


Time Is Something We Don't Have

by dearg0d



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Angst, Flashbacks, Fluff, Goodbyes, Homophobia, M/M, Minor Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Stenbrough, i can't tag, quite bad, reddie if u squint but they're not very relevant just there for some bonus gay, same universe as 2017 but, things r lil different
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-10-19
Packaged: 2019-05-09 10:20:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 42,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14714217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dearg0d/pseuds/dearg0d
Summary: After two years of loving each other behind closed doors, Bill and Stan get caught out.





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> so I finally got back to writing. here we fuckin go again.

"Was he angry?" Bill was shaking as he asked. All he wanted to do was reach out, put a comforting hand on Stan's leg, give him a hug, a kiss - anything. Something was stopping him. He was afraid. Afraid that Stan would freeze up at his touch, push him off, reject it. He had done that only once before, but Bill had never seen Stan like this, shaking and crying and struggling to even catch his breath. Bill feared it would hurt to touch him, that Stanley would sting him with the smallest bit of contact.

"Fucking furious," Stan sobbed, his first two coherent words since arriving at the quarry. They were both sat, across from each other instead of side by side as they usually would have been. For once, space between them.

"I'm s-s-s-sorry," Bill whispered, "I-I'm so sorry. This is m-my fault- I shouldn't h...h...have- I didn't m-mean to-" Bill couldn't help but feel he was somehow to blame for the entire situation. He knew that if he wasn't the way he was, Stanley wouldn't be in this mess. That made it his fault, didn't it? That made him responsible, to at least some degree. Bill understood if Stan wanted to blame him.

Stan didn't respond, couldn't respond. He couldn't get his words out to even try - and what was there to say? He didn't know where to begin. All he could think about was the rage, the apathetic anger behind the things his own father had screamed at him. The way his mother had sobbed and sobbed, muttering words of disgrace and disappointment. Stanley had always known that was going to come, but he didn't expect it to be so rough. He had overestimated how ready he was to deal with such hatred, overestimated his parents empathy. 

He knew now. They didn't care for his happiness. All they wanted was a son that made them look good, and Stanley had never been very good at that, but this? This was a whole new level, even for him. Stanley Uris was beyond redemption in their eyes. 

"S-Stan," Bill was crying too, but a different kind of crying. Silent tears were rolling quickly down his cheeks, unlike Stan, a red eyed, choked up, mess. "What did they say?" 

-

_"G-G-Give it b...back," Bill had yelled, tackling Stan on the grass. Stan was laughing hysterically, holding the postcard up in the air and attempting to kick Bill away. "S-Stan!" It was out of character for Stanley to do something like this, Bill had noted. This sort of thing was what he expected from Richie or maybe Eddie on a bad day. It was as if Stanley was trying to annoy him, trying to get his attention, which was uncalled for considering they were the only two of the gang still out._

_"Let me read it," Stan said, smirking. He had gone through Bill's bag looking for a handkerchief, but was distracted by the Derry postcard in the bottom. He hadn't read it, all he saw was the sign off, "Love, Bill" and it had sparked a burning curiosity. And a burning jealousy. "Bill! Come on! Don't be a bore!"_

_Stan assumed it was for Bev. He knew they still wrote to each other so this wasn't something completely out of the ordinary however the use of the word 'love' made Stan's gut twist, he had to know. Especially since Bill had gotten so defensive about it. What was he hiding?_

_Bill, on top of Stan, managed to snatch the card back, but Stanley's hand remained fixed hard around his wrist. He was looking up at him with an unfamiliar spark in his eye. Bill gulped. He had written the card a long time ago, and simply never bothered sending it. He regretted leaving it in the bottom of his bag, that had been a stupid mistake - something he should've really thought about sooner to prevent this exact situation from unfolding._

_"No fucking way," Bill spat, shaking free of Stanley's surprisingly firm grip. Stan frowned at him._

_"Why not?" Stan asked, "At least tell me who it's for. Is it...Bev? Are you still writing love letters to her?" Bill went red. Stanley thought that said it all._

_"I-I...It's-" Bill couldn't get his words out._

_"She's been gone two years, Bill," Stan scoffed. It sounded much angrier than Stan intended it to, but he couldn't help it. "Aren't you going to let her go? She isn't coming back, plus, Ben-"_

_"It's not for B-Bev!" Bill cut in, shoving the postcard back into his backpack. "D-Drop it Stan." But Stan couldn't, especially not upon learning that. The alarm in his mind had been set off - who else was there? Bill had never mentioned another crush. Who else could he be writing love notes to? He had to know. He fucking had to._

_"Why?" He quizzed, "Who is it? What are you hiding? And why can't I know? Since when do we have secrets, Bill?" Bill went red and rolled off of his friend, jumping to his feet and grabbing his bag. He was almost angry at Stan for putting him in this situation, asking him questions that he really couldn't answer. It was so unlike Stan._

_"Fuck off," Bill said, the only words he could muster. He began walking off, knowing that Stan was going to follow him anyway. Stan was quick to grab him, pulling him to a stand still. Bill sighed and looked at his friend, he contemplated telling him the truth, letting him read the card. Maybe that would be the easiest option, it answered all of Stan's questions without him having to utter or stutter a single fucking word._

_"Talk to me," Stan said, staring at him with almost desperate eyes. The look in his eye seemed calmer, almost concerned. Bill tried to relax, but this was still the last confrontation he wanted to have. He was less afraid of Pennywise, for fucks sake. "Bill..."_

_"I c-can't S-Stan," Bill mumbled, apologetic. He broke the eye contact, but he still caught the disappointment in Stan's expression. It made his gut twist. Stan didn't say anything, just reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze. Bill gulped. Maybe giving him the postcard wasn't such a horrific idea after all. "I'm sorry."_

_"You can tell me anything," Stan whispered softly. Bill nodded, knowing it was true. Bill didn't respond verbally, Instead he reached into his backpack and retrieved the postcard, addressed to Stanley Uris. He replaced his hand with the card, and simply walked away._

_Stanley froze for a minute, too afraid and worked up to actually process what could be written. He sat himself down on the grass, and read the neatly written card._

**Stan,**  
I'm writing because you love my writing. But you might not like this. You might hate it. You might hate me. I bet I hate myself more.  
But you need to know how I feel about you, not that I have it completely figured out. But my heart beats faster when I'm with you.  
And your smile gives me butterflies. And my knees go weak when you touch me. It sounds so fucking gay, and it kind of is.  
And I don't even care, which surely means something. Probably more than I want to admit, because I'm fucking terrified Stan.  
I don't know what to do. I just know that if this doesn't go away I have a big problem. And you need to know about it.  
I'm sorry. I'm sorry if this changes everything, if it means I lose you. I can't help it. I hope you understand, you're usually good at that.  
Love, Bill. 

_Stanley took a minute or ten. He wanted to vomit, but in a good way, if that was possible. He was both terrified and amazed. Part of him wasn't ready to deal with whatever this meant, but the other part of him had been waiting to hear this for over a year, ever since he first realised he had something for Bill, something that was a little beyond platonic admiration._

_Then, he ran._

_Bill didn't live very far, and he didn't have his bike, but he didn't stop or slow once. Not until he found himself outside the front door of the Denbrough house. He knocked on the door with a bit too much force, probably suggesting anger, when in reality it was pure excitement, pure curiosity and joy._

_Bill's father opened the door. He shouted Bill, then left Stanley stood on the porch, returning to his TV._

_Bill came down only two minutes later, shutting the front door behind him. He was bright red, clearly nervous and flustered by whole ordeal. Stan almost felt guilty, he should never have tried to read the postcard, but he was glad he had. He was relieved. Bill would be too, he hoped._

_"I'm sorry," Bill said, as soon as he was outside, "I-"_

_"I feel the same," Stan cut in. He watched as the relief took over Bill's expression, the anxiety draining in an instant, a small smile left in its place. "I feel that way too, Bill. Always have."_

_"I-I-I..." Bill couldn't get his words out again. There was so much he wanted to say, he had no idea where to start. This wasn't a conversation he had expected to be having that day, or ever. It felt too good to be true. "K-Kiss me?"_

_It was an uncertain request, like he wasn't sure that was the right thing to say. It wasn't._

_"I can't," Stanley said, his voice almost catching in his throat. He gulped as he watched the horror wash over Bill's face. "Not because I don't want to. I do, I really do - you have no idea."_

_"W-Why n-n-n-not?" Bill asked, slightly confused. Maybe Stanley didn't feel the same, he thought, maybe he was saying it to avoid awkwardness. Maybe he wasn't attracted to him. Maybe he just didn't like him enough. "No-I-I mean, I-I'm sorry. I shouldn't have as-asked-"_

_"It's forbidden, Bill," Stan's own voice cracked. It was a conversation he'd had with himself many times, but it never got any easier. Being a gay Jew wasn't part of the plan, not the one his parents had for him. And that wasn't easy for a confused fifteen year old to deal with. It didn't matter what he felt - he couldn't act on it. He couldn't._

_Not even for Bill._

_"I'm sorry," He said, "I'm so sorry. I...I...I can't do that yet. I just needed you to know. I feel the same, Bill."_

_"So what n-now?" Bill asked him, stunned. He was embarrassed, but the joy and relief overshadowed that. He had hope, which was more than he'd ever had before._

_"I don't know, Bill," Stan sighed, and to be fair, he didn't._

-

"Stan?" Bill wanted nothing more than to hold him, but something was stopping him. "T-Talk to me. Please." 

Stan was sat, cradling his legs in his arms, rocking back and forth, his head buried in between the top of his knees as he sobbed. He was embarrassed and hated the fact Bill was witnessing him in such a state, but he couldn't bare being alone. Not right now, and there was nobody else that would understand. It had to be Bill.

Stan lifted his head slowly, "They're going to ruin my life, Bill. They're going to ruin yours."


	2. 2

Bill didn't know how to respond. He knew that Rabbi Uris was capable of making his life a living hell. He knew all too well, the man had always had a vendetta against Bill Denbrough, it was common knowledge that Stanley's family didn't approve of his friends. Now, Donald Uris had all the more motive. He had no doubt that he was out to get him, and he had no doubt that he'd be successful. 

"W-What d-d-d-do you think he's g-g-gonna d-do?" Bill asked, shuddering at the thought. He wanted to tell himself that there was only so much the man could do, but that simply wasn't true. Stanley and Bill both knew all too well. "S-Stan?"

-

_Three months had passed since Stanley had read the postcard. He kept it in a box under his bed and read it every single night, without fail. But Bill didn't know that. They never talked about it, Stanley didn't really want to._

__

_Stan and Bill were just friends. They never spoke of the postcard, or even of their feelings for each other again after that night three months ago. Acting as if it never happened seemed like the easier option, despite the toll it had taken on their friendship, which was noticeable to everyone else. Stan got snappy with Bill for no reason, he never had patience for him or his stutter. Bill stuttered more around Stanley. They stopped hanging out alone and were distant, almost quiet in conversation with each other. That wasn't the only noticeable change._

_There was the way Stanley would stare when he thought Bill wasn't looking, and suddenly any physical contact they made lasted just a second too long and Stanley's hand was always clammy when it touched him. It made Bill's gut twist to think about, so he chose not to. It was easier that way, to pretend that everything was so normal. In some ways, it was, because for over a year the boys had been having those feelings. They'd never acted on them before, so why now? They were no more real than before, just out in the open. But that didn't have to change anything. Stan pretended that it hadn't. He had gotten good at it._

_They were having a sleepover that night, the first one in a long time for the entire gang. Sometimes, Eddie, Bill, Richie and Ben would have them. Stanley wasn't always allowed out, not unless he'd done all of his reading and his grades were close enough to perfect, and Mike's grandpa was weird about him staying out if it wasn't planned well in advance. Those had become less frequent, as Bill chose to stay home and write, and Ben simply stopped attending._

_Everyone was going that night though. Minus Beverly, who's presence was always missed to some degree._

_Bill was hosting as his parents were going out for some fancy meal, they weren't returning while late. Mr and Mrs Denbrough knew Bill enough to know he wasn't going to throw a wild party, and they didn't mind Bill's friends all that much, so long as they were going to be quiet later on. They usually were, with the exception of Richie, who was unfamiliar with the concept of an indoor voice, even at sixteen._

_"Come round at six," Bill had told them all. That was what time his parents were leaving, and it gave everyone time to get their homework done before they came out. If not, he knew that Eddie and Stan would stress about falling behind all weekend. Bill didn't expect everyone to be on time, they never were, in fact it was almost expected of Richie to rock up half an hour late. Punctuality was not his strong point. But the others, he figured would show up around the same time._

_He was quite thrown off when someone rang the doorbell at five thirty. Bill's mom answered the door, and let her son's friend in with no consultation of Bill - who was still trying to set up the living room for his guests. Bill had heard the bell go. His brain hadn't really thought about who it could be - just why anyone would turn up early, he was certain he'd said six. The surprise heightened when he turned around to see Stan stood in the living room doorway._

_His hair was perfect, as always, and his clothes neatly pressed and ironed, as if he'd only just put them on. He was smiling awkwardly and Bill could feel the butterflies erupting in his stomach. He tried to push the feeling down, ignore it. He knew that he wasn't allowed to think those thoughts anymore, especially not tonight._

_"It's n-n-not six," Bill stammered, inquisitively. Stan shrugged._

_"I had a fight with my Dad," He explained, "Left early." Bill gulped. He knew that Stan didn't have a good relationship with his father. It wasn't really something Stan liked to talk about, as his father tried to keep up a pristine nuclear family image. The last thing Donald Uris would want is to find out that his own son was discussing the darker side of their relationship with his 'no-good-friends'._

_"Oh," Bill said, "Are you okay?"_

_"I will be," Stan shrugged. He placed his bag down by the couch and walked over to Bill, sitting down by his side. Bill tensed as their knees clumsily bumped. "I just had to get out, you know? He wouldn't stop yelling."_

_"I'm s-s-s-" Bill always tried to apologise for other people's misfortunes. He didn't know why, but his first response to any hardship his friends suffered was an apology, like it was his fault. But nobody blamed him for anything anymore, not even the incident in the Neibolt House, or any of the bullshit they went through that summer._

_"Don't," Stan cut him off before Bill could get the words out. Bill sighed instead, annoyed at himself. "I'm fine. It's all fine." That was a lie. Bill knew._

_"W-What d-d-did y-you f-f-fight about?" Bill asked him. Sometimes, Stan and his father fought only about religion, Stan would be accused of not trying hard enough, of embarrassing the family, of sinning. Other times, Stanley's father would pick fights about other things, like how Stanley's grades sometimes dropped, and how his friends were bad influences, an argument that Stan particularly dreaded._

_"You," Stan mumbled, almost embarrassed. Bill gulped again, and reached out to rest his hand on Stan's leg. He meant it as a reassuring gesture, nothing more and nothing less, but Stan still froze up under his touch. "Not just you. All of them. The losers. Us. He thinks I need better friends. He thinks I need-"_

_"Jewish friends," Bill finished for him. Stan nodded, almost ashamed. His father didn't used to have an issue, not until Stan started falling behind in his studies a few years ago. He never caught up, he could never quite master it, despite excelling at almost everything else. Still, even that had never been good enough. Part of Stan was becoming more and more aware of the fact that nothing would be good enough for his parents, not unless he was willing to do every single thing they said, not unless he was willing to be their puppet on a string. The rebellious side of him thought it would be stupid of him to start trying to be a golden child now, he had always failed before._

_Why not keep fucking up?_

_"He'll never uh-uh-uhn-understand," Bill said. Stan knew that he was right. His father didn't want to understand, there was no way he could, and it was as simple as that. He'd had this same conversation with Bill far too many times, Bill knew what he was talking about._

_"I don't care anymore," Stan lied, "It'll blow over again. He'll find something else to pick at me for." Bill nodded, giving Stan a knowing look. He realised, in that moment, that he still had his hand on his friends leg. He also realised that for once, Stan wasn't tensed up under his touch. He was calm, he was relaxed, he was okay with it. A wave of relief washed over Bill._

_"D-Do you like the set up?" Bill asked him, changing the topic. He knew Stan hated talking about his home life, and they spoke about it enough for Bill to know the distraction would be welcome. It wasn't like anything too out of the ordinary had happened, Stan was used to dealing with it, and Bill was used to helping him._

_Stan looked around the living room, which was almost identical to how it had been since they were tiny. For sleepovers, Bill always moved the coffee table from the middle of the room, and laid blankets and duvets across the floor in its place. There were three pillows lined up on the floor in front of the couch, another in the arm chair, and two on opposite ends of the couch._

_"Who's sleeping where?" Stan asked. It was an innocent question, but it caused Bill to panic slightly - would he have an issue with it? Maybe it would look weird if..._

_"Uh..." Bill thought about changing his mind, but that would look weirder. They had always had the same arrangement. An arrangement that only changed when Ben and Mike started coming along, but even then it wasn't drastic. Ben took Stanley's place on the floor, and Stanley would always top and tail with Bill. Mike took the armchair, always. Eddie and Richie always slept on the floor, and Eddie would always complain._

_"Usual?" Stan prompted. Bill nodded, and Stan said no more, he was relieved, but he didn't want to show that. He didn't want to make things awkward. "Cool. Have you picked the movies?"_

_"I picked some options," Bill said, "Nothing s-scary, don't worry Stan." Stan smiled softly. He hated horror films. The others didn't, but the others weren't afraid of anything anymore. Not on the surface. Bill, for one, had gotten very skilled at hiding his fear._

_Stan had gotten very skilled at noticing._

_"Just let Richie choose," Stan shrugged, "He won't shut up through any of them anyway."_

_"I expect n-nothing less from Trashmouth," Bill agreed._

_"Is it bad that I kind of wish he wasn't coming?" Stanley muttered, almost embarrassed. Bill shook his head. Then, quieter, Stan said, "I kind of wish none of them were coming." Stan was still smiling at him and it was making Bill go all fuzzy, he hated it, except he didn't. He hated himself for loving it so much. He didn't know why it was suddenly bothering him so much in that moment - Stan smiled a lot._

_But not at Bill. And not like that, beaming at him like he was made of fucking gold._

_"I-I-I..." Bill wanted to tell Stan he felt the same, that he wished it was just the two of them. He was afraid of how Stan would react. Once upon a time, that sort of comment would have been innocent, normal. Not since the postcard though, it was almost like the elephant in the room, but they were still both ignoring it. Bill wondered if this was Stan's way of addressing it, indirectly of course. "We c-c-could do that an-nother time?"_

_"Is that..." Stan began, but his sentence changed route, "Yeah, maybe."_

_"I-I think w-w-we need it," Bill continued, getting it out while he had the chance. Bill wondered if this was the last time they'd been alone together since...well, since Stan turned up on his porch and told him he could never kiss him. The memory caused a pull in Bill's stomach, always did. "I th-think we need t-t-to t-talk, Stan."_

_"About what?" Stan scoffed, as if it were the most casual thing in the world. Bill was struck dumb. Stanley knew exactly what Bill was talking about. How could he not? Why was he pretending as if...as if it didn't even matter? It mattered more than anything, to Bill at least. Maybe it really didn't matter to Stan at all. Maybe Stan genuinely didn't know what Bill was talking about._

_The idea gave him chills, and his brain made it worse, throwing conspiracies at him, even suggesting that Stanley had lied to Bill on the porch that day. Maybe Stan felt nothing. Maybe Stan had simply told Bill what he thought his friend wanted to hear. It wasn't such an absurd idea in Bill's mind, it was very plausible, actually._

_Bill took his hand from Stan's leg as if it burned him, snatching it away and rubbing it on his own leg. Stan pretended not to notice, turning away and carefully removing his shoes. "What time is it? What time will the others be here?"_

_"Like, twenty minutes?" Stan told him, uncertain. Bill sighed._

_Twenty minutes of awkward, forced conversation passed. Bill's parents left. The conversation flowed, kind of, but there was a heaviness around it. Bill stuttered almost every sentence, and Stan started getting short with him. It was relieving for them both when the doorbell rang._

_It was Ben, and he was five minutes late. He was shortly followed by Mike. Eddie and Richie were another thirty minutes behind, both boys using Sonia Kaspbrak as their excuse, Richie for very different reasons._

_"One day I'm going to punch you in the fucking face," Eddie snapped at him. Richie just shrugged, pleased with himself for dropping yet another unsuccessful mom joke._

_"You've been saying that for five years," Stan reminded him, though he couldn't actually pin point the start of Richie's vulgar comments. Maybe he was fresh out of the womb dropping sex jokes - an unsurprising concept really._

_"I'm still waiting for him to fucking stop," Eddie sighed, flopping down in what was supposed to be Stan's space on the couch. Stan couldn't help but feel an ache of disappointment. He hoped Eddie would move. Not that he wanted to be next to Bill, he just...the order. He didn't like them breaking the normal order, the normal composition._

_"That's wishful thinking," Mike scoffed, "Hasn't been a day gone by where I haven't heard a joke about your mom's vagina-"_

_"You wish they were jokes," Richie cut in, winking at Eddie. "Sonia just can't get enough-"_

_"Beep beep Richie," Mike said, rolling his eyes. They had all accepted that Richie just wasn't going to grow out of his childish humour, but it annoyed Stan as much as it annoyed Eddie. Stan had meant what he said about wishing Richie would just fuck off sometimes, but obviously, that wasn't going to happen._

 _Stan settled in what was supposed to be Eddie's spot, and Richie frowned at him. Bill tried to ignore the aching feeling of disappointment in his stomach. Eddie and Stan had switched, and it made no sense. In their earlier conversation, Stan had seemed fine with the normal arrangement being kept - so why change it? He didn't know who had sat down first, was it Eddie making an attempt to get away from Richie? Or was it just Stan deciding he couldn't bare sleeping on the same couch as Bill. Naturally, Bill believed the latter._

_They sat through four films, two hundred Richie comments and ate five pizzas between them before they began to fall to sleep. Bill's parents had returned home, so quiet was now a requirement. Luckily, most of the losers were out. Eddie had been asleep on the couch since the middle of the third film, Ben was curled up asleep on the floor, snoring his heart out, and Mike in the armchair. Richie kept drifting between states. Stanley and Bill just couldn't get comfortable._

_It was no later than two am, early for the losers. Bill was very aware that everyone but him and Stan were out cold. He was also very aware that Stan was going to struggle to sleep, tucked between Richie and Ben - the most restless sleepers in the gang - with a blanket too small for his long limbs, and no pillow because Richie had stolen it. Plus, Stan wasn't used to having the floor. He hadn't slept on the floor since Ben joined the group, since before that summer, since-_

_"Are you awake?" Stan asked him, suddenly. It made Bill jump._

_"Yeah," Bill mumbled. He heard Stan gulp, but there was no follow up question from him, as if all he had wanted to know was if Bill was awake. He didn't need to ask though, he could feel Bill's eyes on him, he could hear his breath, he knew Bill wasn't sleeping._

_"I can't sleep," Stan told him. "I don't know what's wrong."_

_"Same here," Bill said, "Eddie keeps stealing all th-the blanket, and he's kicked me like f-fi-fifty times." He heard Stan chuckle._

_"Richie stole my pillow," Stan whispered, "Fuck Eddie for stealing my spot." Bill was flood with relief. Eddie had moved. Not Stan. Somehow, that wasn't too surprising, Richie always did everything in his power to wind Eddie up, maybe tonight he just couldn't be bothered. Bill wanted to laugh at himself for being so dramatic about something so simple, he had thought too much into it, worked himself up when he hadn't even known all the facts. Eddie moved first._

_"F-Fuck Eddie for stealing my b-b-blanket," Bill said, letting himself laugh for the first time that night. "Why did he h-have to f-fuck the order up? W-We always sleep in the s-same p-place."_

_"I hate it down here," Stan said. Bill let himself wonder if Stan was hinting at something. "It's so uncomfortable."_

_"C-Come up here," Bill suggested, swallowing his pride. He knew there was a high chance Stan would brush the idea off, and he mentally prepared himself for that. "Eddie's a heavy sleeper. He won't wake up-"_

_"There's no room," Stan cut in, certain and insistent. The tone he used shut Bill down instantly, and Bill felt the wave of disappointment that he had expected. An awkward silence followed, Bill not trusting himself to say anything right, or get it out with stuttering to an embarrassing degree. "Do you think I could get in your bed?"_

_Bill almost choked. "S-Sh-Sh-Sure."_

_"Cool," Stan stood up slowly, cautious about waking their friends. He stood there for a second, staring at Bill, as if waiting for him to get up too. It took Bill a minute to catch on, but as soon as he did, he was on his feet and practically running to the stairs._

_Bill's room was the same as Stan remembered it, cluttered but not gross, with a strange childlike feel to it. He had always liked Bill's room. Stanley stood in the doorway, looking around and Bill gently shoved him inside, prompting Stanley to climb into the bed. Stanley did so, flopping down dramatically, then lifting his head and staring expectantly at Bill._

_Bill was on edge. He knew that this was going to go one of two ways - Stan was either going to say goodnight and Bill would return to his place on the couch, or Stan would invite him over, and then..._

_The possibilities made Bill's stomach twist, and the image in front of him was really triggering his imagination. Stan on his bed, watching him with what was definitely a mischievous glint in his eye - Bill had dreams that started like that. He gulped, annoyed at himself for twisting an innocent situation into something sexual, but he couldn't help himself - Stan was beautiful and he was a sexually frustrated teenager._

_"Aren't you coming?" Stan asked. Bill wanted to pinch himself, and held back a Richie-style response to the badly worded question. Stan wouldn't have appreciated it._

_"W-What?" It was a little bit too good to be true. Not long since, Stan had been completely off with Bill, dismissive and cold - now he was asking Bill to sleep beside him. Understandably, Bill was a little confused. His head was messed up enough, he didn't need the hot and cold bullshit on top of everything else. "I-uh-"_

_"You don't have to," Stan said, "I just thought-"_

_"N-No," Bill cut in, "I-I w-w-want to." But his feet stayed fixed where they were, as if glued to the ground. He continued staring at Stan, who began shuffling beneath the blanket, budging to make room._

_"Come on then," Stan encouraged him, smiling mischievously, "Beats trying to sleep with Ben's snoring." Bill forced a laugh and walked over, almost cautiously - he had to be wary. This was out of character for Stan, and Bill knew that if he said a single wrong thing Stan could freak out again and go back downstairs. That was the last thing he wanted._

_Bill climbed into the bed, careful to leave a gap between him and Stan. Stan bridged the gap, rolling closer so that he was pressed against Bill, laid on his side. Bill could feel his eyes staring, but resisted the urge to roll and face him. "Do you still have nightmares, Bill?"_

_"Sometimes," Bill said, keeping his eyes fixated on the ceiling. He was lying. The nightmares were very frequent, but they weren't typical nightmares - not the ones that were terrifying all the way through, not little horror movies running through his mind as he slept. His dreams were normal, mostly, but there was always something off about them, like a darker presence was there in the dream with him. Sometimes, he even saw that presence - but only for a second. Bill tried not to think about it too much. "Do you?"_

_"Always," Stan whispered, but Bill already knew that. Stan had the same nightmare all the time - not every night - but often enough for him to sometimes fear going to sleep. The nightmare didn't last long, but it was still chilling when he woke up screaming, always sure that the woman from the painting was watching, lurking._

_"I'm sorry," Bill managed to say it without stuttering. He was sorry, because he always felt responsible for putting his friends in such a horrific position, and that guilt wasn't something that was going to fade over time. Bill knew that, because that same guilt still crippled him to that day if he looked at the scars on the side of Stanley's face, or saw the slash mark across Ben's stomach. Nobody else blamed him, not anymore, but that didn't help Bill at all, he still refused to forgive himself._

_"You don't need to be," Stan sighed, "Not for anything." Bill was still staring at the ceiling, unblinking as thought and focus consumed him. He could still feel Stan's eyes burning into him, but continued trying to deny the distraction._

_"Don't lie," Bill countered, "I...I-I know it w-was my f-fault." He closed his eyes, half holding back tears, half restraining himself from returning that enigmatic stare Stanley was giving him. There was rustling and Bill felt a weight almost on top of him. He re-opened them only a second later to see Stanley above him, holding himself above Bill with his arms, but Stan's face was only inches away from Bill's. His breath hitched at the sight alone._

_"Not every mess we find ourselves in is your fault," Stanley insisted, stern, "Stop beating yourself up, Billy." Stan stayed above him, both boys frozen in a trance. Stan was hoping Bill would kiss him. Bill resisted the urge, figuring that would be too much, that the action would have too many consequences. Nothing about Stan's behaviour that night, or even recently, had suggested to Bill that this was where they were going to end up that night. He didn't want to misjudge anything, it mattered too much to mess up because Stanley was doing one kind of weird thing._

_"Who's f-fault is this?" Bill asked, a daring edge to his voice. Stanley knew exactly what he meant - "this" being the strange purgatory that their friendship was in. They weren't friends, but they weren't lovers, and they could never be enemies. This, was a very weird situation. Unnatural. Stanley, as afraid as he was, had grown tired of it._

_"Mine," Stan replied, confidently, "All mine. Entirely. One hundred percent my fault. I'm guilty - me." He was smiling and Bill found himself doing the same, despite the shock of it all._

_"It was m-me that f-f-f-fucked up," Bill protested, and he truly believed that was the case. If he hadn't given Stanley the stupid postcard, nothing would have ever changed. It was one moment of compulsion, and it had caused three months worth of damage. Bill couldn't tell if the conversation was going to fix all of that, or just make it worse._

_"You didn't fuck up in the slightest," Stan said, "That was all me. I should have..." His voice trailed off, as he was re-evaluating his choice of words. Bill held back a frown, he assumed that Stanley was already regretting this conversation._

_"Should have what?" Bill quizzed, propping himself up more. Stanley adjusted too, so they were sat up, face to face. Stanley took a minute to respond, slowly moving his arms from their clutch on the pillow to gently resting on Bill's waist. Bill tried not to respond, tried to keep a straight face, but it was hard when he wanted to run fucking laps around his room. Stan was doing this. Stan. By choice. Bill wondered if this was real, it was far too good for that._

_"Should have kissed you."_

_And that's what he did._

_Stanley Uris did what he wanted to do for an entire year, something he had forced himself to turn down three months ago. He kissed Bill._

_Their lips were connected for all of three seconds before Bill pulled away, shocked. He took a moment, they both did, mentally evaluating what they had just done. Stanley realised all too quickly, and went back in. He didn't want to think about how much he was going to hate himself for this, he didn't want to think at all - that was kind of the point. Bill made his mind go fuzzy in the best way possible._

_The second kiss was better, and Bill was holding Stanley's face like it was the most precious thing on the entire earth. Stanley's hands remained on Bill's waist, his thumbs gently rubbing circles as they clumsily necked. It was a new feeling to them both, and Stan's heart was beating harder than it had in a very long time. Bill could feel it when they laid back down, bodies pressed together like they couldn't bare to not be touching._

_"It was w-w-worth the w-wait," Bill whispered, when they finally untangled a few minutes later, borderline sweaty and breathless. Stan didn't reply, simply smiling into Bill's shoulder as they held each other. "L-Let's not t-tell the losers about this."_

_"Let's not tell anyone about this," Stan agreed, before adding, "Not ever." Bill's stomach twisted at the notion, but he understood. It was different for Stan, harder for Stan. Everything always was - he didn't have a backbone like Bill's._

_"What do we tell them in the morning, if they wake up before we do?" Bill asked._

_"Nightmares," Stan whispered, and Bill didn't reject the idea. The rest of them would understand that, they wouldn't question a thing. They'd all had the nightmares._

_Bill kissed Stanley once more, just for good measure, before they finally went to sleep. Stanley had a nightmare that night, but it wasn't about the monster living down in the sewer. This nightmare was different. This one featured the monster living in his home, the monster running the Synagogue, and the monster wanted him dead for what he done with Bill._

_It had felt terribly real._

-

"Stanley," Bill was pleading, "Please talk to me, p-p-please- I-I-I-" 

"I don't know Bill," Stan said, running a hand through his hair, which for the first time in his entire life, Bill noticed, was messy. "I don't want to fucking think-" 

"Where is he now?" Bill quizzed, "How did you get out?" He had waited at the quarry for two hours. Stanley had promised he would find a way to him, and he did. Somehow. Stanley always found a way, always for Bill. Anything for Bill. 

"Looking for me," Stan sobbed, "I smashed my bedroom window and ran." Anything for Bill.


	3. 3

Bill had gone to the quarry on the off chance that Stan would find him there. Fate didn't fall short. 

Stan had gone to the quarry because it was the one place he felt somewhat safe. The birds. The distance. The memories. The quarry held a place in his heart above most, it was the first place he knew nobody would think to go straight away. The idea would probably cross their minds, Stan's family knew of the place, but they wouldn't march straight there upon realising he was gone.

Stanley knew them better. First they'd go to Bill's. Then the Denbrough's would join the search. They'd go to each of the losers homes, a wild goose chase would begin. People would roam around town aimlessly, and then eventually, someone would suggest looking there. Stan didn't know how long that would be, and he didn't know where he was going to be at that point.

Running away wasn't an option, but Stanley would've killed for a fighting chance at that. It wasn't the first time he had wanted to.

-

_They were in Bill's bed, again, when he said it. Maybe that was why Stanley found it so hard to take him seriously, convinced that Bill was just overwhelmed and not thinking straight. It was a rational explanation to Stan - people get erratic when they're sexually frustrated and falling in love._

_"I think w-we should ruh-run away," Bill had suggested, ever full of the best and worst ideas. Stan chuckled, his only immediate reaction. It was a nice idea, but anything that involved leaving Derry was a nice idea to Stan. "Far, far away."_

_"Where would we go?" Stan asked, humouring him. "Anywhere pretty in mind?" The idea of leaving Derry wasn't an unfamiliar one to Stanley, who dreamed of it almost constantly, but running away wasn't something he had ever really pondered, mostly because he was too rational to think it could ever really work._

_"Anywhere buh-but here," Bill said. "I'm easily p-p-pleased." Stanley chuckled again, and Bill's hand began combing through his curls._

_"What about the other losers?" Stan asked, "They coming too?" It was a fantasy to him, a small daydream to lighten up the dark atmosphere around the room. It was raining outside, a storm worse than any Derry had seen in recent years. Stanley's parents would be worried, but he had no intention of getting out of that bed anytime soon. He felt safe there, protected by Bill's sheets and the makeshift lock on his bedroom door._

_"We'll write to them," Bill shrugged, struggling to think of a nice way to reject the idea. Stan laughed at that._

_"I'm sure that will mean the world," Stan said into his chest._

_"You know I'm buh-being suh-suh-serious?" Bill sat up, Stan forced to follow his lead. They remained tangled in each other, Stan opting to sit on top of Bill, wrapping his legs around his waist, Bill's arms came around Stan's waist, holding him in place. He pressed a kiss on Stan's collarbone. "Let's run away."_

_"Bill..."_

_"I k-know it sounds stupid," Bill continued, "Buh-but it's the only w-way that w-w-we can just...exist. I d-don't want to be here anymore. I don't want the n-nightmares, or the s-stupid bullying or our s-stupid parents. The losers are the l-l-last good thing about t-town." Stan was almost struck dumb. He thought Bill was being...unrealistic. The idea was nice, the two of them running off into the sunset, never looking back. Only, this wasn't some stupid fucking romantic novel. This was their reality, and Derry was no town for two emotionally disturbed teenagers to play at being loves young dream. It was a nice idea. That was all it ever would and could be to Stan._

_"You're right," Stan said, unconvincingly, "But the losers are worth staying for, Bill. We can't just up and leave our friends like that. I know it's fucking shitty right now, but we'll be leaving soon anyway. College will be different." Bill knew that Stan was right, had known the stupidity of his idea, but he had hoped that Stan would play along. He just wanted to leave, he just wanted to leave and never look back. Not until he absolutely had to - that inevitable day in twenty-something years (he was trying not to count down, trying not to think). But until then, Bill wanted to spend as little time in Derry as possible. Stan did too, but he knew that he couldn't just pack a bag and leave - it could never be that easy._

_"I don't want to have to wait until college," Bill muttered, "I want to hold your hand walking down the street, Stan. I want to kuh-kiss you in public without having to ruh-run off to some secluded location and- I-I-I-"_

_"You're being delusional." Stan didn't intend for it to come out so harshly. Bill looked like he'd just been slapped and the guilt hit him hard. Sometimes, Stan didn't think his words through - he heard something that he didn't like and his first unfiltered thought would come pouring out. He was used to being calm, collected and in control - always thinking everything through - but as soon as Stan got emotional or got pushed slightly the wrong way, he'd lose it. Like just then._

_Bill took a minute, stared at Stan with lost eyes, as if he didn't recognise the boy sat in his own bed. His grip around Stan's waist loosened and he appeared to slump back a little. Bill didn't know which words to use. "Yuh-Yuh-You don't muh-mean th-th...that."_

_"I..." Stanley found it hard to lie when Bill was so close to him, looking into his eyes as if he was trying to find the answer. The silence told him everything: he did mean it. He'd have said more if he hadn't caught his tongue in time. "It's a nice idea, Bill. But we both know it wouldn't work. Be realistic."_

_"I d-don't want to be realistic," Bill grumbled, letting go of Stan completely. Stan clung to Bill, his fingers finding grip in Bill's bedroom hair. Stanley kept telling him to cut it, but he secretly like how messy it got, how it felt to run his hands through. To pull on._

_"You can't live in fantasy land forever-" Another snap comment. Bill grabbed his wrists, guiding Stanley's hands away from him. He was offended, genuinely. Stan's attitude made his heart sink, and it almost angered him that Stan could sit there so casually and call him 'delusional' for wanting them to be together openly, somewhere bigger and better. It was hope, not delusion, not to Bill. Or maybe it was a horrific mix of them both, Bill wasn't sure._

_"I know it's huh-hard-hardly a solid plan." If there was one thing Bill despised, it was being patronised. Especially by his own..._

_Boyfriend?_

_They'd never agreed to that. Bill was too afraid to start that conversation, and Stan could barely admit he was attracted to boys without seizing up and panicking. Their relationship fit the conventions, they'd earned the title, but using it was a completely different ballgame. They weren't ready, they weren't there yet._

_Best friend sounded safer, and Stan kind of was his best friend. Their romantic side didn't change that._

_"I'm nuh-not suh-saying th...that," Bill continued, "I jus- I...can't think of a g-good re-re-reason to stick around, Stan. We have nuh-nothing but the luh-luh-luh-losers here, and another year with them won't ch-change anything - p-plus you don't wah...want them knowing about us a-a-and I don't fuh-feel good about lying to them-"_

_"It's not about that," Stan cut in. That was another one of Bill's pet hates - being interrupted. People were usually more patient with him, keeping his stutter in mind when they wanted to jump in with a comment, letting him finish. Sometimes, Stan worked himself up too much to do that, and he'd jump before Bill could even say what he wanted to._

_"D-Don't interrupt me-" Bill knew he couldn't say it without stammering at least a little bit. It always got worse if he was feeling upset or afraid or anxious in any way. Bill wasn't sure which one of the above it was causing his tongue to twist so much. "I-I-"_

_"Bill-"_

_"Shut up!" Bill snapped, pulling his legs from under Stan, who tried to resist. Bill stood up, staring at the boy on his bed with an unfamiliar rage bubbling up. He hadn't expected the conversation to go so sourly, and he didn't know how to react. Stan was in a similar position, both afraid and annoyed at the situation, which felt almost uncalled for in hindsight. Stan half wishes he had just gone along with the silly idea, knowing it would never have worked or even actually happened, but no, he insisted on bursting Bill's bubble._

_"You're not listening," Stan huffed, shaking his head. Bill scoffed, and held back the same accusation._

_"I-I-I...I j-" Bill couldn't spit it out. Stan sighed again, heavy and dramatic but purely from frustration. He then realised how it had come across as purely impatient. "F-F-Fuck you."_

_"You wanted us to run into the sunset two minutes ago," Stan countered, "I'm just trying to be logical and you're-"_

_It was Bills turn to interrupt. "T-T-T-Trying to m-make us wuh-wuh-work out!"_

_Stan gulped. Bill couldn't read the expression on his face - did he feel guilty? Or was it pity? Potentially a mix of both. Bill hated not knowing what was going through Stanley's head. "We will." It wasn't a reassuring sentence._

_"Not here," Bill held his arms out, as motioning to the world around them - that world being Derry - home to Pennywise the supernatural murderous clown and a population of peers that despised them. "A-And I'm s-still af-afraid. And I-I th-think you are too."_

_"Bill," Stan was speaking softer now, dialling it down a little, "I'm fucking terrified, truly. You know about my nightmares, and you know about...everything. But if killing that fucking clown taught me anything, if you, if Bev, if Mike, if- fucking any of you ever taught me anything, it's that you can't run and hide. That's not an option, Bill. It never was, and it never will be."_

_Bill was struck dumb. He hadn't considered it like that. Running away had seemed almost romantic, not like some psychological answer to all of his troubled thoughts. Well, maybe a little, but mostly he just wanted to be with Stan. They both knew that was barely possible in Derry._

_"And not just that,' Stan continued, "Think logically, love." Bill's heart skipped with the pet-name. Love. "We can't afford to do that - the car would only get us so far, and they'd trace it. Plus, we haven't even graduated - who's going to want to hire us with no diploma?"_

_As much as the in love part of his brain tried to resist, Bill was coming to see sense. Maybe he was being a little delusional. Maybe it was a little too optimistic for them. Bill sighed and walked back over to the bed, a small smile grew on Stan's face and he opened his arms for Bill, who collapsed into them, forcing the pair back flat on the bed._

_"I hate it when you're right," Bill groaned, "But we are r-r-running away one day. Into the s-sunset, yeah?." He kissed Stan's forehead, earning him a small, cute smile - the kind that made Bill go funny inside - and Stan's arms wrapped around him tighter._

_"Pick somewhere pretty," Stan said. He was relieved that they'd somehow managed to get around another argument. Stan hated confronting Bill, mostly because he hated losing his filter. Hated saying things and realising only a second later that he'd fucked up. Hated seeing Bill's face twist as he spat half truths and sentences laced with denial at him. Their arguments were never pleasant and never easy to escape. Once Bill was mad, he was mad. Unlike Bill, Stan was quite easy to wind down._

_"I'll start planning soon." Bill was smiling again. His tone was still wavering, Stan chose not to notice. "Buh-But what about right nuh-now? Where do I even stand with you-"_

_This time when Stan cut him off, he wasn't doing it to prevent Bill from knowing the truth, he was giving it. Stan pulled Bill's head down to his own, connecting their lips as soon as he was close enough to do so and Bill melted into it. He always did, kissing like their lives depended on it._

_"I don't know what we are," Stan whispered, his grip of Bill's hair tightening, "I just know that I've wanted this for as long as I can remember. I just know that I don't want anything to change. I just know that running away with you is way more tempting than any other option we have."_

_"You jus-just know that we can't." Bill understood now. He felt a similar frustration at the idea, how stupidly difficult it would actually be to execute, but how stupidly easy life could be if they pulled it off. They wouldn't. He knew that. Had he always known that? Did he just snap because he wanted Stanley to play along? Bill thought so._

_"One day, Bill." It wasn't a promise, but it was close enough. Bill and Stan were in no position to make promises to each other. Their lives were too unpredictable. Bill knew that there was the off chance Stan could change his mind and go for girls any day. Stan knew that Bill might not even want him in a year if he realised how difficult things were going to be._

_Because Stan did._

_Stan was painfully aware of how awful things could turn out. The risks ran through his head, haunted the back of his mind every single time Bill touched him. There was a constant feeling of guilt in the bottom of his stomach whenever he even so much as spoke to another member of the Jewish community. Especially his Father._

_"One day." Bill agreed._

It wasn't a false promise. Stan had made very few promises, and now at least he didn't have a broken promise to Bill on his conscience as well as everything else. 

"We need to run," Bill had said what they'd both thought. Stan stared at Bill and Bill could practically see the cogs turning in his head, weighing up all the possibilities, each pro and each con. 

"We do." He agreed this time. But at least this time, there truly was nothing to lose. The losers were all going to the same university, with the exception of Mike, who was staying home to tend to the farm, Richie, who didn't think it was for him, and Bev, who had stopped writing back. Stan's parents were very aware of this plan, they disliked it intensely. If Stanley stuck around, they'd force him somewhere else. He knew it, they had said just as much after all. He was still crying an almost pathetic amount. Bill's heart was breaking, he could feel it slowly tearing in two. "Did you pick somewhere pretty?" 

Bill's face softened at the memory. He almost began to cry too, but he held it back. One of them needed a clear enough head, one of them needed to keep together, and for only the second time in his life, Stanley was beyond that point. "I don't cuh-care as long as you're there. I...I can't be somewhere that you're n-not. I can't not be around you. I c- I...." 

The sentence broke Stanley's heart. They were joined at the hip, beyond normal best friendship, and it was clear to anyone. His parents had been suspicious for a very long time. They'd spent years watching the boys do everything together, grow fond of each other, grow reliant. 

"You might not have a choice," Stanley felt his throat flood as he said it, but it had to be said. Stan had wanted to tell Bill since his father had informed him of the plans. The memory made him feel sick, and he despised that he was forced to tell Bill in such a horrific circumstance. He had been waiting for the right time. It never came. "They're-" He sobbed. "They're sending me away." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> big up my one reader. and just to be clear, the flashbacks so far have been in order, that's not always going to be the case. and I lowered the rating because like......this isn't that mature. anyway I hope you're enjoying this, comments n kudos make my heart skip xoxo


	4. 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a long one. Warnings for basic internal-homophobia (but that's this entire fic so like,,,surprise) and also borderline sexual content (in a religious place,,,but it's not in depth,,,or even that sexual at all).

Stanley Uris hated himself. 

He hated his life, he hated his past, he hated his pre-planned future. There wasn't much Stanley didn't hate, but there was nothing he despised more than himself. It wasn't his fault, it was out of his control, if Stan could have magically conjured up some self love, then he would have, but it had never been that easy, it never could be. Nothing ever was for Stan, as if he was cursed to live out a beyond fucked up life, and then just die. 

God's plan was not a good one. 

Somehow, he still managed to stumble through, finding comfort and joy in the small things - most namely his beautiful friendships, and that little something more that he had with Bill. There was a lot of beauty in the world, Stan knew that, he just had a sinking feeling that little of it was meant for him. 

Things had been dark in Stan's mind since the summer of 89, and Stan was almost used to it, desensitised to his own twisted thoughts. He never thought so negatively before that summer, before that stupid fucking clown and that God-awful flute woman. It was scarring, damaging beyond belief. Stan and Bill called it the Pennywise effect, a term they used to describe all the ways the horrors they'd witnessed had changed them. Some were better, some were worse. 

Stanley forgot about the good things that came from their horror. There were few, and they were small, but they were the only reason that the other losers dealt with it all so well. The situation gave Bill some closure over Georgie. It brought Mike, Ben and Bev into their first true friendship group. Bill and Ben got their first kiss, Beverly got her second and third. Bowers died. Most importantly, IT brought out the courage inside them that they never knew existed. Stan often thought he'd lost that courage. He knew it was within him somewhere, but he didn't know where or how to use it before that night. That night, he'd had no fucking choice.

Breaking out of his own home, running from his own enraged parents was possibly the bravest thing he had done in a long, long time - maybe even since facing up to Pennywise. Maybe even since he confessed his love to Bill. Stan thought that had been the scariest night of his life.

\- 

_"You need to stop doing this," Stan had snapped, grabbing Bill's hand and pulling him into the office. Bill had looked smug, so fucking unbelievably smug. It enraged Stan, who found nothing funny about the situation. "My dad hates you enough already."_

_"So it makes no dif-difference," Bill had shrugged, lacing their fingers together. Stan was mad, but not mad enough to snatch his hand away. "I wanted to see you, Stanley. I've wanted to see you all day."_

_Stan slammed the door shut, and slid the lock across, all without letting go of of Bill's hand. "You're unbelievable-" Bill had him against the door before he'd even finished his sentence. Stan didn't bother resisting, no part of him wanted to; any rationality left his head when Bill pressed their lips together._

_"C-Couldn't s-s-stop th-thinking ab-bout th-this," Bill whispered. His stammer always seemed to get worse when he was flustered, and Stan lived for it._

_"About what?" Stan asked, as if it wasn't very fucking obvious. There was a time, a long time, where Stan would never have encouraged Bill to act like this, where Bill would never have dared to act like this. A few months ago, Stan would have most probably fainted at the idea of Bill turning up to the fucking place of worship for a quick neck, but this was becoming their normal. Bill was hormonal and Stan had stopped caring._

_He didn't ever think of it was courageous, but it was. Stanley was being brave again - finally - pushing away the denial he had around his feelings for Bill. There had been a turning point, a point where Stan had come to realise that he his feelings, his wants, his needs, all outweighed his fear, and that maybe what he and Bill shared was worth the risk of everything else. Stanley Uris had fought real monsters and won, he was refusing to be defeated by the demons in his head. What isn't courageous about that?_

_"About th-th-this." Bill reconnected their lips, and pressing his body into Stan's as much as he possibly could, all space between them gone._

_The kiss lasted all of about ten minutes before they were interrupted. By that point, Stanley was against another wall, his legs wrapped around Bill's waist and Bill's hands gripping his ass, they were hardly even kissing, just grinding into each other and gasping into each other's mouths. It wasn't their most sexual experience, but it definitely made the list. Stan was getting braver, but he wasn't ready for everything quite yet._

_As soon as Stanley heard movement in the building he shoved Bill away. Bill understood, immediately straightening out his clothes, wiping his lips and trying to brush his hair back down. Stanley was doing the same, and rushed to unlock the door. He could hear the footsteps quickly approaching, his father's walk was always easy to identify, each stride echoing throughout the building. If he entered the office, they were going to be in trouble, if he tried to enter and realised Stanley had locked the door, they'd be in the fucking dog-house._

_Stanley had gotten away with seeing Bill at the Synagogue before, and the Rabbi had even once let Bill in, but this was going to look suspicious, and neither of the boys had thought up a good enough excuse as to why Bill had turned up. Stan was almost shaking with panic, every worst case scenario buzzing through his mind._

_It was beyond a relief when he heard the footsteps walk straight past the room. The boys looked at each other, both waiting to hear the slam of a door or the sound of a voice - any indication that the Rabbi was out of earshot or sight. Bill knew that Stanley would be spooked enough to want to leave, even if they didn't finish what they'd started._

_They left in a hurry, Stanley pushing Bill outside and then running to tell his father he was going to see friends. Donald Uris was too busy to argue, simply muttered unhappily as Stanley sprinted out of the Synagogue. Bill was waiting for him in his car, a Sedan Audi 4000, which was a recent gift from his parents for passing his drivers test. He didn't like driving all that much, but he wasn't complaining, it was a way to get around and meant he and Stan always had somewhere to sneak off. The only other loser driving was Mike, who had a beaten up truck from the farm. It got them around._

_"Where are you going to park up?" Stanley asked him, expecting the usual set up. Bill would pick him up, they'd drive to outskirts of town and fool around in the backseats. At first, Bill had felt scandalous for suggesting the idea, but Stanley couldn't have been more eager and it slowly started becoming a common occurrence for the two of them. None of the other losers ever questioned their whereabouts, and they'd gotten used to lying to their parents - not that they ever asked._

_"I was th-th-th-thinking w-we could go back t-t-t-to m-my place," Bill told him, starting up the car. Stan wasn't necessarily disappointed, but he was slightly confused, and it was blatantly obvious in his facial expression. Going to Bill's didn't guarantee anything out of the ordinary. If Bill was willing to randomly drive to the Synagogue to get Stan worked up against a door, driving them back to his for cuddles and a chat didn't really make sense. Not that Stan was needy or anything._

_"Why?" Stanley didn't mean for it to come out the way it did, he continued, "Aren't we going where we usually-"_

_"My parents are out," Bill cut in, smirking. Stanley's expression quickly changed as he realised what that meant._ Oh. 

_Stanley knew what that meant. And there was a big problem. You see, going back to Bill's empty house meant having sex with Bill. Only, Stanley didn't want to have sex with Bill. He wasn't ready to have sex with Bill. It made him feel kind of stupid - seventeen and still afraid of sex. He understood the ins and out, he knew that Bill would want to be on top, he knew what that entailed for him. Nothing about that concept bothered him, except, it kind of did, but now how it was supposed to - Stan wasn't afraid of the pain or the awkwardness. There was something else about it that scared him, something more complex._

_It took Stanley a while to put his finger on it, to understand why he panicked every time Bill asked or did something a little bit too much for him. At first, he pinned it down to what he pinned all of his anxiety to - the Pennywise effect. He was afraid because of his trauma, and that made a little bit of sense in his head. But then it didn't. This had nothing to do with what happened when they were kids, and there really was no true correlation._

_Another explanation was the religious guilt. Stanley knew that didn't make complete sense, considering he was all fine with Bill's mouth around him and he had no second thoughts about pulling Bill off in Richie's bathroom (it was one fucking time). It was all gay, it was all sinning and Stanley had already practically committed sodomy. That wasn't the real reason either - Stan had (mostly) shaken off the religious guilt, at least enough for it to not overpower him like this. It was always present to an extent, but it no longer controlled him like it used to. He had come so far, grown so strong and brave - yet he still didn't want to have sex._

_He wanted to talk to Beverly about it. She was kind and understanding, and Stanley assumed that she'd have lots of it, but she barely wrote back, and he didn't want her to question who he would be having sex with or have to explain his sexual history and orientation when none of the other losers even knew. Beverly wasn't an option, sadly. Alternatively, he went to Mike. Mike hadn't had sex, but he was kind and understanding and Stan knew that he wouldn't ask too many questions if he knew Stan wasn't comfortable answering them._

_Mike told Stanley that he didn't need to justify his feelings to anyone. Stanley supposed that was true, but he felt like he owed it to Bill. Mike also explained that sometimes there was no reason, and disinterest in sex was not a bad thing. Stanley supposed that was true too, but he knew there was a reason and he didn't lack interest. Mike reminded Stanley that he didn't owe anybody sex, and there was no invalid reason to not want it - anybody who cared enough to deserve his sexual interest would be understanding of that. Stanley supposed that was all he needed to hear._

_It had never shaken the feeling that something was wrong though. Stanley grew frustrated with himself - feeling immature and silly every time he thought about it. Maybe he just needed to do it? He wondered if that would work, if allowing himself to be touched like that would just magically make him okay with it. He knew that was stupid - it would only make him feel violated, or he'd grow to despise Bill's touch and resent him for it. Having sex was not the answer to not wanting to have sex. Stan knew he had to wait until he was ready, it was just awful when he didn't know what he was waiting to be ready for, or how long that would take. Although it didn't seem like the right real thing bothering him, Stan simply tried to accept that maybe he just wasn't ready, and there was nothing more or less to it. Mike was right a lot, after all._

_Bill didn't know how Stan felt about it, he assumed that Stanley was just as into the idea as he was, and Stanley had given him no reason to think otherwise with how he acted. He was perfectly happy to do everything else, and they were pretty active - Bill had never let himself dream that would be a thing. Bill was always surprised by how passionate and eager he could be, when once upon a time Stanley couldn't even deal with holding hands. Character development was a blessing._

_Bill hadn't asked in a while, he had accepted that it wasn't going to happen in the backseat of his car. That was Stan's justification for saying no every time. He always insisted it needed to be better than that, and that was where their thoughts differed. Bill would have probably fucked him in a bathroom stall given the opportunity, and that made Stan feel a little guilty about his attitude, but Bill was understanding and patient._

_The drive was silent. They remained silent when Bill pulled onto his driveway, and when they made their way upstairs. For Bill, that just increased the sexual tension. For Stanley, that just increased the overwhelming sense of dread. He knew he couldn't do it._

_He knew he couldn't do it when Bill started kissing him, and when Bill put him up against the door (which he took the time to lock, purely out of habit rather than necessity). He knew he couldn't do it when they undressed each other, and when Bill brought him to the bed. His childhood bed. He knew he couldn't do it when Bill asked him if he wanted to, and Stan replied with a small, seemingly desperate 'yes'._

_That was when Bill knew he couldn't do it._

_"Y-You're n-not sh-sh-sure, are you?" Bill could read him like a book. Sometimes, Stanley forgot that._

_"I'm sorry," Stanley whispered, his voice breaking. He wasn't going to cry, but the relief was definitely effecting him. "I'm sorry, I just-"_

_"Don't apologise," Bill said, sitting up. Stan followed his lead, needing to keep some form of physical contact, and threw his arms around Bill. "Don't ever apologise for th-that. I don't w-want anything that you don't."_

_"It's not that I don't want it," Stan mumbled into Bill's neck. He wanted to explain himself, even if he didn't completely understand what he was trying to explain. He half-hoped he'd find it on the way, or that Bill would understand and explain it for him. Bill sometimes did that, he could see what Stan was trying to say when Stan wasn't even sure himself. Maybe it down to his way with words, which was quite impeccable if you ignored his occasional struggle to pronounce them._

_"It's okay if you don't," Bill continued, "I sh-should buh-be the one apolo-gi-gising. I didn't w-want to p-pressure you-"_

_"You didn't," Stanley half-lied. He pressured himself, kind of. Bill would always take no for an answer, at any point in any time. Stanley was well aware of that, it was his own stubborn-ness that had allowed it to escalate this quickly - once again his own shame was putting him in situations that he didn't want to be in. "I was too scared to admit it, because I don't really know why I don't want it."_

_"It's a big deal," Bill said, running his finger up and down the side of Stan's face. Stan would've smiled into the touch at any other time._

_"Except it's not really," Stan sighed, "Because we've done everything else, so this shouldn't be any different-"_

_"Not everything else-"_

_"But why is this any different?" Stanley asked. It was meant to be rhetorical, but as always, Bill found an answer._

_"Because it-it-it's suh-suh-supposed to mean more than everything else," Bill replied, "It's muh-more intimate. It's more meaningful, and th-that doesn't mean the other st-stuff doesn't mean anything, because it did - to me, buh-buh-but th-this is not just casual or like..." Bill was lost for words too. He understood though, and Stan could tell. It made him feel at ease._

_"It's scarier," Stan said, "But not because I'm scared of the actual act, like, you know..." Stanley motioned on his hands, a finger going into his balled up fist. Bill held back a laugh, and Stan found himself smiling too. He was shocked by how wonderful Bill was being about it all, but he couldn't remember why he ever expected otherwise. To be fair, he hadn't exactly put much thought into this exact scenario - it had been completely spontaneous._

_"I'm scared, too," Bill confessed. They kissed then, a small, delicate one for the sake of comfort above anything else. "I'm scared it will ch-change-" Stanley was right, Bill understood. It clicked into place in that moment, everything all at once. The fear didn't vanish, but it was much less present once he let himself think about it._

_"Change everything," Stanley finished for him. Bill nodded, like it was obvious. There was a moment of silence as Stanley tried to finish piecing it all together. "It would change everything, Bill. If...If we have sex, we're like a couple. We aren't together." Why not? They had avoided that conversation like the plague, but now, it was begging to be had._

_"R-R-R-R-Right," Bill took his hand away from Stan's face. The words stung him, even though he knew it was all true. Bill didn't want to have that conversation either, it scared him more than it scared Stanley. Mostly because he knew that he wanted more than his friend did. Bill wanted to be in a relationship, Bill wanted to use the word boyfriend without watching Stanley flinch, and tell all of their friends how much he adored him._

_Bill's stomach fucking_ ached _at the thought of a future with Stanley. He'd almost cried over daydreams of waking up in an apartment far, far from Derry next to his curly-haired 'friend' and coming home from work to see him every single night, happy and in love and-_

_In love. Bill tried to force that idea out of his head. If he was to confess that, Bill would be putting everything on the line. Stanley could leave and never speak to him again - he'd almost dealt with that level of disgust before, if he had to face that kind of rejection again, Bill would be in fucking ruins._

_Across the bed, Stanley's mind was delving into similar places. Even after a year of fooling around with Bill, he refused to use the word gay. It made his stomach churn. A much braver part of his mind knew it was the only word that really described how he felt, and was attempting to process everything that it meant._

_"We can't be together," Stanley continued, trying to speak his thoughts as they came to him, "I can't be with you, because I can't actually be gay. I'm not allowed to be. I'm not-" He was getting choked up, panicked, distressed. A lot of negative emotions were hitting him at once. Bill wanted to reach over, but he wasn't sure it was a good move. They were both butt-naked still. "I'm not gay."_

_"I am." Bill had dealt with it a long time ago. He wasn't even sure that he definitely didn't like girls - he found them attractive too, and he kind of knew that bisexuality was a thing - but none of that mattered to him. No girl was Stanley Uris. No girl could compare. And after all, no girl had ever been naked in his bed, or given him countless orgasms in the back of his car. Bill didn't know how Stan could still lie to himself how he did, but he wasn't going to call him out on it. That wasn't Bill's battle to fight._

_"Does it scare you?"_

_"Not anymore," Bill replied, it was mostly true. Sometimes, it did scare him a little, but not how it once had. He feared the reactions of others more than his own internal-homophobia. "I-I-I juh-just c-couldn't keep lying to my-myself."_

_"How did you know?" Stanley had never bothered asking before. He had never wanted to know. "How did you know, for sure, that you liked boys?"_

_Bill couldn't answer. He knew the exact reason, could pinpoint the exact moment, but there was no way in hell those words were going to leave his lips. Even if he wanted to tell Stanley, the stammer would have made the process painfully difficult. Instead of saying what his heart said, Bill simply shrugged. "I juh-just knew."_

_The answer wasn't enough for Stan. He hadn't expected the conversation to go this way though - he had been ready for a rant off of Bill as soon as he denied his own homosexuality. Bill was used to hearing it, but given the circumstance, he had at least hoped Bill would try to tell him different. But he didn't, and Stan assumed that he knew why._

_"You think I'm stupid, don't you?" Stan's tone changed completely. It kind of scared Bill, this was the last way he had expected the day to go and this was the last way he had imagined this particular conversation would start. He wanted to initiate it, for one, and he had hoped it would be on a good day, at a good time. Not when Stan was borderline tears and naked._

_"Not even a little bit," Bill said, soft. He reached back out to him, wrapping one hand in the crook of Stanley's neck. "It's n-not stupidity, baby, it's juh-just fear, I th-think. You're afraid. I just...I don't know exactly what it is scaring you this bad."_

_"I...I don't either," Stanley said, looking away. It was a lie, Bill could tell, the slight hesitance, the aversion and the shake in his voice giving him away completely._

_The thing was, Stanley had a lot of things to fear, and it all came back down to his feelings for Bill. Those feelings he was trying so fucking hard to deny. They could make out, pull each other off, hold hands all they wanted, and it didn't have to mean a thing. For some reason, Stan felt like if they fucked, that changed - fucking wasn't nothing, fucking meant more - and then they'd have to be more. And if they were more, he'd have to tell Bill how in love he was. That was a bone-chilling thought for him._

_Stanley feared the reaction of his parents, which he knew in no universe would be pleasant. He feared the Jewish community would shun him, despite his lack of love, and his questioning belief, he didn't want to be pushed out by some of the first people he had ever known._

_Stanley was afraid of proving the bullies right. He detested the satisfaction they'd get if they were to discover the truth. The risk of the bullying getting somewhat worse if they knew that it was all right, he'd been getting called faggot and queer for as long as he could remember. It wasn't as intensely as it once was, hadn't been since Bowers disappeared, but nasty people still existed in Derry._

_"Y-You don't h-have to be g-gay to like boys," Bill told him. Stanley winced. "You d-don't have to st-stick a label on yours-self at all, not if-if it muh-makes you uncomfortable."_

_"I know that," Stanley mumbled, hanging his head. Bill rubbed his neck a little, an attempt to get him to look up, acknowledge him more. He didn't comply, keeping his head down, eyes locked on the floor._

_"It's not being g-gay that sc-scares you, is it?" Bill asked. Stanley shrugged. To an extent it was. He feared the things that came with being gay more than the idea and the word itself. The consequences were going to be intense, but he was dealing with that, or at least trying to. It was scary, yes, but it wasn't the thing that had Stanley so fucked up._

_"Not really," Stanley confessed, finally making eye contact. Bill's eyes were soft and concerned. Stanley's were distant and afraid. "But that's the main problem." Bill blinked - was that a confession?_

_It was the closest thing Bill was going to get. Stanley knew though, he knew exactly what he was saying, because it was all so fucking clear now._

_Stanley feared being in love. He disliked the feeling, how alien and intimate it was, how vulnerable it made him feel. More than that, he feared rejection. He feared that Bill wouldn't love him back, that he was just going to be a quick fuck. He feared the idea of Bill being his boyfriend because he feared losing him in the inevitable end. He was so afraid, but not afraid of the present, afraid of the inevitable downfall. Setting himself free only to run back into a bigger, scarier trap._

_Fear was defeating him again. Stanley Uris began to cry. Bill had seen it coming. He pulled him in, holding him and rocking back and forth._

_"Y-You don't have t-to be sc-scared," Bill whispered, "Not of me. Not ar-around me." Maybe it was true, but it didn't feel it. Stanley feared Bill more than anything, feared the power he had over him. He didn't want it to be that way anymore._

_"I can't help it," Stanley sobbed into his chest, "I'm stuck, Bill. I'm trapped." Bill didn't ask for an explanation, didn't try to tell him that he was wrong. He let Stanley cry it out for a good five minutes before either of them spoke up again. It was what Stan needed, Bill almost always knew what Stan needed._

_"I'm pathetic," Stanley huffed, sitting back up. Bill wiped under Stanley's eyes, ridding his face of tears. "I'm so sorry Bill-"_

_"Don't apologise," Bill said, "And y-you're not pa-pathetic. Not at all. You're the b-br-br-bravest person I've ever met." Stanley didn't believe him, but Bill meant it._

_"I'm not brave," Stan scoffed, "Bill, I can't even admit I'm fucking gay. I can't even have sex with my..." Stan couldn't find the word. Bill didn't really want to suggest any. Instead, they stared at each other, unblinking and confused._

_"What are we?" Bill asked, quietly. Stan kind of resented that he'd asked. He didn't want to be the one to answer, unsure of the right or wrong. What if Bill didn't want to be his boyfriend? It was highly likely from Stan's perspective. "St-Stan..."_

_"I don't fucking know," Stan spat, shuffling back down the bed. Bill's face fell, and Stan couldn't help but hurt when he saw the hopeless expression. "What do you want? It's fucking, isn't it? We're just fucking and-"_

_"Well, we're n-not fuh-fucking, are we?" Bill cut in. It came out harsher than he intended, but he didn't apologise or take it back, he figured he had nothing to lose judging by Stan's previous response. His heart was shattering though, rationality was out of the window. "And I-I-I-I don't wah-want us to-to be juh-just fucking-"_

_"Well we're not together," Stan said, his voice wavering. Bill let out a loud grunt, as if he'd just been physically hurt, the sound set shots to Stan's heart as he realised what he'd just said. "You're not my boyfriend, Bill." The words tasted wrong._

_"W-W-Why n-not?" Bill asked, the million-dollar question. Stan froze, as expected. He couldn't answer. He couldn't tell him. Bill had seen it coming from a mile away, but it didn't make it easy to handle. He felt he deserved an answer, because he couldn't think of one himself. They acted like a couple, the only thing that was different was the title - and the probable lack of feeling on Stan's part. "Don't t-t-tell me it's because you're n-not gay." He wasn't planning on it._

_That was kind of the thing, Bill knew they weren't together because Stan didn't love him. Couldn't love him - because of course, he wasn't gay. Bill was just a wet mouth and a warm body. It broke his heart, but he had no reason to believe otherwise. Stan was sat across from him, and he hadn't even rushed to deny it. And it hurt. It hurt so, so bad._

_"Because..." Stan was crying again, silent this time. His tears were falling but he wasn't heaving or sobbing, just shaking. "I didn't even know you wanted that." Half truth. Bill stared at him, completely lost for words as it sunk in._

_"What the fuh-fuck gave you th-that impression?" He asked, an edge to his voice that gave Stan chills. He could see how hurt Bill was, and it had surprised him, for some reason. Did he really believe Bill didn't care? Or was that just an excuse to ignore his own feelings? Stan's heart said the latter, his brain was too stubborn to admit it though._

_"You never said different," Stan explained, which Bill supposed was somewhat valid. He had never, vocally, expressed his feelings. He was too afraid of rejection, much like Stanley. Exactly like Stanley._

_Catch 22._

_"I didn't th-think you'd want to huh-hear it," Bill admitted. Stanley could've kicked himself. "Tell me I-I-I was w-wrong, Stanley."_

_Stanley shuffled back over to him, threw his arms around his shoulders and sobbed. Bill couldn't have held him any tighter if he tried, clinging on for dear life. A small, paranoid part of him feared this would be the last time, but no. It couldn't be. It wouldn't be. It was small, only just the right side of audible, but Bill heard every syllable. "You were so wrong, Bill."_

_Then the laughter came, originating from a hybrid of shock and relief._

_"You were so wrong, Stanley," Bill imitated, but he was also right. It was a miscommunication, a nasty, fear-induced lie that had held them apart for so long. Fear was really having Stanley's life, he realised. But it couldn't have this. Stanley wouldn't let it have this, not right now._

_"I love you," Stanley whispered. The words felt like a weight off of his shoulders, an indescribable feeling of relief hit. Stan felt almost powerful, for the first time in a long, long time. "Oh my gosh, Bill. I...I'm in love with you."_

_Bill thought he was dreaming. Then, he thought he was going to vomit. The joy didn't hit straight away, but when it did seconds later, it was a new kind of euphoria. He squeezed Stanley, actions speaking before his words could form, he pressed a kiss to his forehead, then his nose, then lips. Stanley was crying again._

_"I love you too, Stan. I love you so, so much-"_

_Part of Stanley felt stupid. He'd been scared to hear that for so long, but it was the most beautiful sound in the world. He knew what people would think, that they were too young to be in love, that it was a stupid, disgusting phase that they'd grow out of. Stanley knew better, none of that was true. And in that moment, he didn't even care what people would say._

_"Does this mean-"_

_"B-B-Boyfriend?" Bill asked, mumbling the word into Stan's neck. Stan thought he was going to melt._

_With all the courage in his heart, mind and soul, Stanley Uris replied, "Yes. Yes. Fucking_ yes!" 

\- 

Stanley Uris didn't know if he could ever be that brave again. 

But he was sure as fucking hell going to try. For Bill. Anything for Bill. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're enjoying this, feedback is always really appreciated, you bet your ass my biggest motivation by comments off strangers on the internet !!!! fuel my ego, or tear it down, I don't mind.


	5. 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for some homophobia/homophobic language

Bill gave in. 

He was afraid to touch Stanley at first, as if he was so fucking fragile a simple touch would shatter him. The idea of Stanley being sent away was enough to make Bill disregard that mindset. He launched at Stan, letting out a strange groan as he flung his arms around his neck, knocking him to the ground. 

Stanley adored the contact, the comfort, wrapping his arms as tightly as he possibly could around Bill's waist. 

"No!" Bill cried out, then quieter, whispering into his neck, "No, no, no, no." He kept repeating it, each time tugging on Stan's heart strings. He knew Bill was going to react badly, but he hadn't prepared for seeing him so broken. It was going to be harder than he originally imagined, he realised in that moment. This wasn't just him losing Bill, this was Bill losing him too. This was all of the losers having to live on in Derry without him, and he hadn't given much contemplation to that before now. 

How were they going to cope? 

Stanley didn't think highly of himself by any means, but he did acknowledge how much the losers relied on him. They were like a human body, unable to function well if one part wasn't working or there. Losing Beverly had hurt them all enough, especially since she lost contact. It was almost as if she'd forgotten them. Would Stanley forget them too? 

His heart could never. 

"Where?" Bill eventually asked, unhooking himself and climbing off of Stanley. He remained touching him though, now unable to let go, never wanting to let go again. His hand cupped Stanley's face, and Stanley was squeezing Bill's wrist hard enough to bruise, holding his hand against his face. The contact offered a comfort he hadn't expected, but it also hurt him. How much longer would he have with the luxury of Bill's touch? How much was he going to miss the feel of his skin against his own? Would anyone ever feel the same? 

To quote Bill, "No." Stanley shuffled back onto Bill, wrapping his legs around his waist. He needed all the contact he could get at this point, fuck being fragile - fuck being afraid.

"To live with my Aunt," Stan said, his voice little more than a whimper, "Somewhere in Bangor." In all honesty, Stan didn't know. He had met said Aunt only a handful of occasions throughout his life, and he had never been over to visit them. Leaving to move in with her was going to be a big, scary stepping stone. Would she hate him as much as his father? 

He didn't know if that were completely possible.

Donald Uris had always had it out for him, probably because he'd always seen something in his son that he didn't want to. He did his best to push that out of Stanley, but he was attempting the impossible, and yet somehow angry with himself for failing. And still more angry at Stanley for even being that way in the first place, like it was his fault, or even a 'fault' at all.

-

_"Isn't your junior prom coming up soon, boys?" His Mother, Andrea Uris, asked him. Stanley was having friends over for dinner, a rare occasion because his Father was so finicky about guests. His Father had joined them for dinner though, and was sat at the head of the table, eyeing up each one of his sons friends._

_Not all the losers had attended, Ben was busy with a research project, Mike was working with his Grandpa and Richie was at a family event that night (Stanley was slightly relieved, knowing that his uncontrollable potty mouth wouldn't have gone down well). Bill and Eddie could not have been more polite though, and were even eating the kosher food his Mother had made. Not even Stanley enjoyed that, but he appreciated them trying to make a good impression - the losers were all aware that Stan's parents wanted him to have different friends, better friends (if that were possible), Jewish friends._

_"Three weeks away, Mrs Uris," Eddie replied. Stanley had intentionally not mentioned the prom. He didn't even want to go, mostly because he didn't want to have to go for a new suit, or have to tolerate his parents trying to control his evening. The previous two years had been hell - constant nagging about asking a girl to go as his date, constant quizzing on why he wanted to go with his friends, constant pressure to take it more seriously and be traditional. He had been trying to avoid all of that, and knew his Mother had intentionally asked around his friends to get a straight answer._

_"Oh, so soon?" She gasped, "Stanley! You didn't mention that - we'll have to go for a fitting-"_

_"It's no bother," Stan shrugged, "I can just wear last years." He never liked making a fuss._

_"Nonsense," Andrea said, firmly, "You've grown too much. You'd look foolish." Stanley resisted the urge to roll his eyes, instead looking up across at Bill, who offered him a secret smile. They'd spoken about prom, and discussed ditching together, but nothing was concrete._

_"Do you young men have dates?" Donald asked, speaking up for only the second time during the meal. Stanley's stomach twisted, it was a question he had dreaded. Of course, his Father knew that Stanley wouldn't have a date, he was simply asking to embarrass him. All three losers exchanged knowing looks._

_"I do," Eddie lied, "I uh, I'm bringing a girl from my calc class, Gracie." Gracie from calc was a lesbian with a mullet and a girlfriend, and definitely was not his date to prom, but they didn't need to know that. Andrea and Donald both nodded at him, Andrea making an approving 'hmm' sound, before they both turned to look at Bill._

_"How about you, Bill?"_

_"I have a date," He said, which wasn't entirely a lie. He did, kind of, only his date was a boy, and they weren't entirely sure they were going to attend yet (hence the kind of). Stanley could feel his face burning, hoping and praying they wouldn't quiz him. Obviously, luck wasn't on his side._

_"Oh isn't that lovely," Andrea chimed, "Who is she?" Bill and Stanley both cringed at the word 'she', but Bill wasn't stupid enough to bother correcting her. They disliked Bill enough, and already suspected he was a 'pansy', without him going and running his mouth like that. This was his opportunity to avert suspicion, if nothing else._

_"Uh, I-I..." Bill played up his stutter, trying to think of someone they couldn't ask him about, "I-I-I-I-I'm t-t-taking, a uhhh...a g...girl called Sa-Samantha, sh-she's in my-my English class."_

_"Your parents must be thrilled," Donald said, his tone bordering on passive-aggressive. He was staring at Bill with an undecipherable look in his eyes. Bill felt as if he knew it was a lie. Bill felt as if that comment was somehow shady, an attack. Stanley's parents weren't particularly friends with his own, but they'd had enough conversations to be on good terms. Bill wondered if anything had been said about how close he and Stan were. Both of their families thought it was peculiar, his own had even called him out, and in much less subtle ways than Stan's - but they were much more understanding. Bill didn't have to fear coming out in the same way Stan did._

_"I-I-I-I-I guess," Bill shrugged. They would have been, if it were true. His own Mother had given up asking him about girls though, and his Father never did so with any hope. Bill thought they knew, maybe not about Stan, but about his own sexuality._

_For Bill's sixteenth birthday, his Uncle had bought him a poster featuring a half-nude, big breasted woman riding a motorcycle. Everyone taken it as a joke, laughing about how he was growing up and how scandalous it was, but Bill had felt sick with humiliation. It wasn't exactly comical for him, he didn't see the hilarity. His Father had stuck it on the back of his bedroom door, playfully telling him not to enjoy it too much. Bill ripped the poster down only a day later, and after seeing it in the trash, neither of his parents had brought it up again._

_If Bill did have a female prom date, thrilled would have been an understatement._

_"Who are you going to ask, Stanley?" Donald inquired, putting his knife and fork down. Stanley gulped, unsure if it was a good idea to lie and say a name he knew they'd approve of, or to simply say he didn't want to ask anybody. The latter probably wasn't going to go down well, and he knew that._

_"Nobody," Stan said, "There's no one I like." He had to force his eyes off of Bill, instead staring down into his half-eaten food._

_"Nonsense," His Mother scoffed, "What about the pretty brunette one who you did that science project with-" One time, Stanley Uris brought a girl home. His parents wouldn't let him forget it._

_"Lucy?" Stan said, "I don't like her like that." And he didn't. She was nice, and extremely pretty, but Stanley didn't know her all that well (and had no interest in getting to), they just got paired up for one shitty science project. Stan had barely spoken to her since, but his parents asked about her rather frequently._

_"She's got a date," Eddie cut in with yet another lie. Lucy had mentioned it to Stanley herself, he wondered if she was hinting for him to ask her. She did kind of act like she had a crush on him, nothing major, but enough to make Bill intensely and irrationally jealous._

_"That's a shame," Donald sighed, "Aren't there any nice, Jewish girls in your classes? What about the Adler's daughter? She's in your grade, I can't recall her name-"_

_"Debby!" His mother cut in._

_"Debby," Donald repeated, giving Stanley a smile that was definitely some kind of warning. He did know Debby, to be fair, and she was a great girl. His Father was on very good terms with her parents, and every time they were forced to hang out a social event or a get-together, people would comment on how they'd make 'such a lovely couple'. Stan didn't think Debby hated all of that as much as he did. "I don't know why you haven't asked her out already, Stanley. She comes from such a lovely home."_

_"I don't want to," He said, his tone flat and serious. Bill shot him a worried look, and Eddie raised his eyebrows at the comment. Playing along was always safer, they didn't really understand why he was trying to be defiant._

_"Well, who is there?" His Mother asked, frowning._

_"Nobody," Stan repeated. "I don't want a date, and I don't need you trying to set me up with random Jewish girls-"_

_"You love spending time with Debby!" His Mother exclaimed. She wasn't wrong, Stanley did enjoy spending time with her when nobody was buzzing around them trying to play Cupid. But that didn't mean he wanted to cart her off to prom. "What's wrong with her? We're only trying to help-"_

_"I don't need help," Stan spat, throwing his knife and fork down onto his plate with a loud clatter, "And there's nothing wrong with Debby! I just don't want to date her-"_

_"Why's that, Stanley?" There was an edge to his Father's voice, a warning that knocked away his confidence, telling him to answer very fucking carefully. Bill gulped, and Eddie look extremely on edge. They didn't want to watch an argument between the Rabbi and his son, they'd heard enough about those incidents to know better._

_The pause was far too long, but eventually Stan formed a response, "I just see her as a friend."_

_"Are there any girls at school you don't see as friends?" His Father asked. Stanley wondered why his Father insisted on trying to argue with him the one night he'd brought guests. He wondered, if he ever did bring a girl home, would he do the same?_

_"Some," Stanley lied. He struggled to look at girls and see anything special. He could acknowledge their beauty, lots of them were beautiful, but none of them were sexually attractive to him. It was something that was only just beginning to settle in his own head._

_"Ask one of them," Donald suggested, as if it was the simplest thing in the world. "You're not an ugly boy Stanley. I'm sure-"_

_"He got rejected," Eddie cut in, shooting an apologetic look to Stanley, but Stanley was only thankful for the excuse. He hadn't thought of that himself, and Bill certainly hadn't. It shut his parents up too, as pity took over his Mother's expression. "Sorry, Stan."_

_"I wasn't going to tell you," Stanley said to his Mother, "It's embarrassing." It wasn't, really, but Stanley would have let them believe anything above the truth. Bill smirked and Stanley kicked him under the table, finally letting himself smile too._

_"Who was it?" His Father quizzed. Stanley didn't even need a minute to think up someone._

_"Fran," Stan lied. Fran was another Jewish girl in their grade. She wasn't very devoted to her religion, which was half why Stan much preferred to the other girls in the community, but she was just as pretty as Debby, and maybe more fun. Fran was safe because his Father didn't really speak to her family enough to bring it up. It was an easy lie. "Fran said no."_

_"I didn't know you had a crush on her," His Mother cooed, "Bless you. She's a pretty girl, it's a shame."_

_The topic changed, and Stan truly thought he'd gotten away with it. Eddie left shortly after dinner, Sonia Kaspbrak once again demanding him home unnecessarily early, leaving Stan and Bill alone. His parents were weird about Stan closing the door when it was just the two of them, but when both of them were downstairs he shut it anyway, not particularly bothered about the rule._

_"Fran would neh-never say no to you," Bill scoffed, "She p-practically melts every time you look at her." Stan laughed at that, and Bill squeezed him tighter. He was aware that they were playing a dangerous game - cuddling up on Stanley's bed when his parents were only one floor below them. Stanley was usually weird about being affectionate at his house, but that night he was feeling strangely bold and careless._

_"She does not," Stan insisted, "And she can do better than me anyway. She's pretty, as far as girls go."_

_"Pretty?" Bill sneered. He laughed, burying his head in the crook of Stan's necked. "P-Prettier th-than me?" He was joking, mostly. Part of Bill was always jealous when Stanley was around girls, or speaking of girls - mostly because he didn't know if Stanley was completely gay. If Stan liked girls, Bill knew that he was at risk, that Stan could cut him off at any given point for someone much more ideal. Not only that, but they weren't even exclusive or together - Bill wasn't even allowed to be angry or hurt if Stanley wanted to take a girl to prom, or made out with a girl, or even had a crush on one, because it wasn't like he had made any promises to Bill. They were just friends, after all. And they were going to prom as friends, they had kind of agreed._

_"Much prettier," Stan said, pinching his cheek, but he was laughing too. "Maybe I should ask her to prom."_

_"Maybe you should shut th-the fuh-fuck up," Bill countered, attaching his lips to Stan's neck. They never left hickeys where other people could see, they weren't that stupid, but it took every bit of self control Bill had to stop himself from sucking down on the spot, knowing what it would do to Stan. He loved having his neck kissed way more than he was willing to admit._

_"Leave a mark and I swear-" Stanley rolled them over, straddling Bill playfully. He could feel the wet patch on his neck, but it wasn't sore, not how Bill sometimes made his chest. He knew there was no mark really._

_"What woh-would you d-do?" Bill asked, and then answered his own question, "You'd d-do nothing, Uris."_

_"I'd take Fran or Debs to prom instead," He said, sliding his fingers through Bill's. "You can take Samantha from English-"_

_"Shut up," Bill groaned, but his tone was playful, he sat up and wrapped his arms around Stan's waist, holding him in place. Quieter, "Don't wanna b-be th-there with anyone buh-but you."_

_"Does that mean I'm your prom date?" Stanley asked, looking down at him with eyes that were most definitely smiling._

_"I was hoping," Bill replied, resting his head against Stan's chest. If this were at his house, Bill knew he'd probably have kissed him there, and that they'd probably already be shirtless or at the very least necking. It was a different ballgame at Stanley's, and reminded Bill of how they had been at the very start, much more careful and awkward with their physical affection and much more quiet._

_"Can't say no to that, can I Denbrough?"_

_-_

_Prom night was something Stanley had dreaded since the conversation with his parents. His Mother had bought him a new suit for the event, but Stanley didn't have the heart to tell her he wouldn't really be going to prom._

_Andrea Uris went out two hours before her son began getting ready, she was having a girls night with some of the other Jewish women. Stan wondered if Fran's Mother was going to be there, and cringed internally. The worst part was that it was only him and his Father at home, and he knew that questions would be inevitable._

_"You look smart, son." It was the closest thing to a compliment Stan was going to get, so he took it with grace and gratitude as he waiting for his ride, something his Father was yet to ask about._

_Bill was picking him up, and then they were going to go for a drive. Stan didn't know where, but he knew that wherever it was, they were finally going to do something beyond making out. It was the unspoken plan. He was nervous, but it was outweighed by a disgusting amount of excitement._

_They hadn't touched each other yet, but it had been building for a painfully long time. The blue balls was getting a bit too unbearable, and they were both ready for more, even if Stan wasn't ready to think about everything that meant. He justified it mentally by telling himself it was just experimenting, and it was just a way to get off. He tried not to think too deeply about it._

_"It's a shame you couldn't get a date," Donald began, only moments after Stan had come downstairs. Stan didn't say anything. His Father saw this as reason to continue. "You really should start showing some girls more interest. Fran isn't the only girl in the world. Debby is great, and I'm sure there are plenty others - even if they aren't Jewish."_

_"Right, yeah," Stan wanted to avoid the conversation, but there was no way for him to do that._

_"Because it's strange, Stanley," His Father said, "I find it odd, for a boy of your age, to not have any interest in girls. It's unnatural, Stanley. I know you won't tell your parents about them all, but you don't even mention names. People are going to start asking questions, you see, and it's almost embarrassing, son, having to keep telling everybody you're simply focusing on your studies."_

_"But I am focusing on my studies," Stanley said, but his voice was small, weak. Donald Uris didn't really have an issue with telling people his son was more career-minded, that wasn't the issue, because they both knew it wasn't true - he was just guilt tripping, something he liked to do a lot. Stanley did have romantic interests, just not ones that anyone else was going to approve of._

_"No you're not," He scoffed, "You're always off out running wild with those friends of yours, aren't you? Do they have girlfriends, Stanley? Do they go on dates or bring girls home to meet their parents-"_

_"No," Stanley cut in, realising that maybe that was the wrong answer. Any answer would have been wrong though. Saying no made him look more normal, but at the same time just as socially stunted as his friends - who actually did go on dates. Saying yes would have raised more questions. "I mean, sometimes-"_

_"I bet that Bill doesn't," He cut in. Stanley could have thrown up on spot. "He even looks like a fairy, like a little girly boy. But you don't."_

_"He's not," Stanley insisted, ready to cry, "He's got a date for tonight! And, and I'm not-" He couldn't believe that his Father was making him reiterate that, but it wasn't like he had no reason to be suspicious, just that he had no right to question it._

_"I know what they say about boys like him," His Father continued, bordering on yelling, "I worry, Stanley. You can't let them influence you."_

_Stanley was staring out of the window, trying to focus completely on the outside instead of the performance his Father was giving. When he saw Bill's car slow down the road, he wanted to jump for joy. "I'm going now, Dad."_

_"Who's that picking you up?"_

_"Nobody-" Donald stood by Stan at the window, placing a hand on his son's shoulder with a scarily strong grip, and somehow managed to identify the boy sat in the drivers seat._

_"Why is Bill taking you prom, Stanley?" The question didn't need to be answered. "Is he not taking his own date?"_

_"She decided she wanted to go with friends," Stanley said, somehow shrugging himself out of the iron grip. "I don't want to be late. I'll be home around eleven-"_

_"I don't know if you're really listening to me," His Father snapped, "I'm not quite finished." Stanley froze, his hand on the handle of the front door. He couldn't turn to face his Father._

_"I have to go," Stanley shrugged, something inside of him pushing him to be defiant for once. It was his night. His. "Don't wait up-"_

_"You're not walking out of that door, Stanley," Donald yelled, slamming his hand against the wall. With any more force, Stanley was sure the plaster would have crumbled. He froze on spot, afraid, but still beyond tempted to rebel again. "Not without promising me that you're not going to be...swayed, by your pansy friend-"_

_"Bill's not gay," Stanley spat the words, but they felt wrong on his tongue. Such obvious lies didn't belong in his mouth. "And I don't care if he is."_

_"Do you know what they're going to say about you, Stanley?" His Father asked, then answered his own question, "They're going think you're a girly boy like him. There's no wonder the girls aren't interested in you if you're following those kinds of boys around! And what does that say about me and your Mother? Do you know how that looks? I can't have a queer child, Stanley-"_

_"I'm not queer," Stanley yelled it, and then flung the front door open, storming out. He knew this conversation wasn't over, and dreaded the heat he was going to face when he eventually returned home. He also feared that his Father didn't believe him. He feared that he didn't entirely believe himself. It was getting harder for him to convince himself that he was straight, even more so when he knew he was probably going to fool around with another boy that same night._

_Somehow, all the emotion and anger his Father had made him feel disappeared when he got in the car with Bill. It was easy for him to forget when he was focused on other things, and the words only echoed in his mind after they were finished hooking up, when it was a little too late for him to sit in complete denial. He told Bill of the incident, and he was more than understanding, more than caring. He stayed over at Bill's that night._

_When Stan eventually returned home, the following day, his parents acted like nothing had happened. They didn't even ask him how prom went. Stanley knew it was for the better, but he also knew that the conversation wasn't over - would never be over. His own Father had accused him of being gay, and Stanley was way more offended than he should have been, but that offence came from a place of fear more so than anything else._

_It wasn't over, Stanley knew that, but he hoped and prayed._

-

"When do you leave?" Bill asked, speaking into the crook of his neck. He was almost afraid to ask, knowing the answer was in no way going to be pleasant, that was if Stanley even had the answer - unfortunately, he did, and it was one of the worst possible answers. The entire situation was a series of worst case scenarios, so Bill didn't know why he was surprised. 

"Tomorrow, Bill." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feedback is huge motivation so comments are highly valued and appreciated, means the world.


	6. 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally write the other losers !!!!
> 
> Warning for period typical homophobia, but you should definitely expect that by now lmao.

It was the nineties, a small town in America. Bill knew it was nothing but delusional of him to believe that everyone was going to be okay with his sexual orientation. That was too good to be true, in reality, people were never that understanding. He had hoped, optimistically, that people would come round to the idea, slowly warm to it and accept that Bill couldn't help who he was. That was equally as misguided, because people didn't want to understand homosexuality, they didn't want to like it. It didn't matter how much they loved Bill, they wouldn't push themselves to learn about something they had only ever known to be twisted. Small towns were worse for it, lacking representation and the resources for education.

Growing up, all Bill had been told about the 'gays' was that they were all getting diseases, and that God was going to punish them, and that it was wrong, wrong, wrong. But he didn't understand why, they never explained why it was so bad, or why people shouldn't be that way. Bill never saw a thing wrong with boys that liked boys. He had known for a very long time, somewhere in his mind, that he liked boys too. It flew over his head when the bullies in middle school started calling him a 'faggot' and a 'queer', and it failed to cement the idea that people would not be accepting, instead doing the opposite. Bill thought that if everyone already expected him to be queer that they wouldn't give a fuck if it turned out to be true. 

He told his parents when he was seventeen, and realised just how wrong he had been. They were shocked, horrified even. Bill had known it wasn't going to be all smiles and love, but he hadn't expected the vile response he did get. They didn't yell at him, or raise their voices at all, nor did they cry or laugh. Bill stared at them expectantly, half expecting the questions to come, half wondering if it was all going to go disastrously wrong. He hadn't told them about Stanley, just that he was gay, and he had said it confidently, his stutter forgotten. He was certain that they had seen it coming, certain.

_"No," His father said, his voice firm and certain, as if he knew better. Bill suddenly felt a sickness wash over him. "My son isn't gay."_

_"B-B-But I am," Bill insisted, confused. How could they say that? "I am! I know I am-" He had never doubted the fact he liked boys. Never. Nobody else was allowed to doubt it for him._

_"No." The cold, insistent tone his father was using did not shake as he spoke. "You're not gay, William. My son is not gay."_

_"You can't be, Billy. You can't be that way. Not...here." His mother spoke much more softly, but there was an edge to her voice. He realised, they were not telling him that he was confused, or that it was a phase. And they're weren't doing the usual homophobic-parent routine of straight up rejecting the idea, not in the normal way, at least. This wasn't about the personal beliefs of Zack and Sharon Denbrough, their stance on sexual orientation did not matter. This was different - they were warning him. It wasn't a threat, not by any means, it was their way of telling him that he needed to stay in the closet. Derry wasn't safe for boys like him, Bill should have known that._

_"B-B-Buh-But..."_

_"Enough," His Father said, emotionless, "Enough. You're not gay, Bill. End of discussion. Don't you have some homework to be doing?"_

The topic had never come up again, but they never asked of girls after that day. Bill knew that they knew, that they didn't doubt him. His parents had almost certainly clocked the nature of his relationship with Stanley since then, and he had no idea what they were going to think of that, but in hindsight, he wished he had taken their warning, he wished that he had never told a soul, like Stanley had wanted. But it was too late, the world knew and it was out to get them. It always had been. 

Stanley was still sobbing, his head buried in Bill's neck. Bill was simply frozen, holding him with a solid, unrelenting grip as his last words rang in his ear. Tomorrow.

Stanley was leaving - tomorrow. It didn't sound right, it wasn't a sentence that should have ever formed in his mind, because it was never a thing that was supposed to happen. They couldn't leave each other, couldn't. It didn't matter how far apart their parents dragged them. Bill would have followed him across the world. 

"You can't," Bill whispered, his voice threatening to fail him at any given moment. "You can't leave. You can't leave m-m...me."

"I'm dead if I don't," Stanley sobbed. Bill squeezed him tighter because he knew it was true. "He...He talked about conversion. He doesn't want me to go to college in the same fucking state as you-"

"He can't s-stop you," Bill snapped. He wasn't one for wishing death upon others, but in that moment, wishing it upon Donald Uris didn't seem like a bad thing to Bill. 

"He can," Stanley said, "He's paying, Bill. I can't do shit- I can't do shit!" Stanley shouted the last part, ripping away from Bill and then back to him in an instant. They kissed then, messy and desperate and emotional. There was no romance there, no sexual tension, it was just love. It was something pure in what felt like the most awful thing in the world. Second most awful.

"We need to go somewhere," Bill said, slowly peeling away from Stanley. He stood, and Stan followed his head, gripping his hand tight enough to shatter something. "Who's going to h-h-help us?" It was a loaded question, really. They didn't have many options, considering that both of their families were off limits, and they only really had four friends (Bev didn't count, she was in Portland, and she hadn't wrote for a very long time), so it was easy enough to narrow down the list. 

Their options were risky regardless of who they went to. Ben's parents wouldn't allow them to hide out there, they'd insist on driving them home and there was no way to sneak into Ben's house undetected. Then there was Eddie. It was more appealing than Ben, because they could sneak in through the window like Richie always did, and Eddie would be more than willing to help if he could. He had always been so supportive of their relationship, but Sonia Kaspbrak would cart them off to a conversion camp herself if she caught them, and Eddie wasn't always the best under pressure. Plus, they both knew that once Stanley's parents had invaded Bill's, Eddie's would be next on the list. Richie's would be after that, and although they knew that Wentworth and Maggie would be kind to them, there was still an intense risk with going there. They agreed that Mike's was the safest bet.

Mike lived on the outskirts of town, with his Grandpa on the farm. It was huge, which meant it would be easy to hide if their parents did go looking there, but Stanley had a feeling that they wouldn't. His Father was disapproving of most of his friends, but Mike a little less so. Mike was homeschooled, and a hard worker, which meant Stanley saw him a little less. Mike had only met his parents once, and he didn't talk much of any of the losers to his parents in fear of riling them up. They wouldn't even think of Mike, and they certainly wouldn't step foot on the farm. Mike's grandpa didn't take kindly to random white folks stepping on his land. The entire town knew as much. 

"Mike's." They agreed, and then ran until their legs burned.

-

_Stanley kept putting it off. He knew it wasn't fair, he knew it was getting too much, but he couldn't help it. Every time Bill suggested it, Stanley would shrug it off and steer the conversation elsewhere. Bill wasn't stupid, he knew what Stanley was doing, trying to delay the inevitable. He just didn't understand why._

_"I th-th-think th-they already know," Bill whispered to him. All six of them were out at the quarry, playing in the water as they always did. It was different, at seventeen. They still played the same stupid games and did the same things, and they were all much more at ease since the bullying had gradually come to an end. Ben was more confident now, and the other losers wondered if that had anything to do with his weight loss. Mike was more boisterous, and the other losers wondered if that was due to how much more comfortable he was around them. Richie made more big dick jokes, and the other losers wondered if that meant they were true now. Eddie stopped whining about Richie manhandling him, and the other losers assumed it was because he had now grown accustomed. Positive changes, for the most part._

_But then there was Stanley, who had only grown more awkward with time. He didn't like partaking in the games as much, instead choosing to swim around or sit on the rocks and cloud watch. He undressed in a more defensive manor, and always seemed to hold his elbows awkwardly in a shield across his chest. The discomfort was obvious, but the losers wrote it down to insecurity. That particular day, he was simply refusing to take his clothes off at all. Nobody was questioning him, nobody was forcing him to undress. They half-believed him when he said he just didn't feel all that well._

_"They don't," Stanley insisted as he sat down on the rocks. Bill resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He knew why Stanley was refusing to get in the water, he knew because it was his fault._

_"I-I-I th-think they do," Bill said, "Just get in, Stan. I'll sh-shield your chest. Stay neck deep, then get out with your back to them all when we get out. Nobody's gonna n-notice."_

_"Nobody's gonna notice?" Stan scoffed. The conversation alone made him anxious. The other losers were all in the water, squealing and splashing about. Richie was holding Eddie's waist and spinning him round, Eddie was yelling out a colourful vocabulary. Mike was watching, splashing at them both, and Ben was swimming around them, focused on nothing but his physical activity. None of them were listening, and even if they were trying to, they were too far away to catch anything. Stan's more rational side knew that, but it didn't change anything. "It's pretty fucking hard to not notice, Bill. I'm fucking blue-"_

_"You weren't c-complaining the other night," Bill said, smirking. Stan held back his own smile, feeling a little bit too ashamed. It was weird, he had found that in the safety of Bill's car nothing felt wrong, the guilt and the shame weren't there, nor was it's presence hanging over, threatening to come after him if they finished. His mind felt free, when it was just him and Bill. It was only when the others were around that he was hit with guilt, with an intense feeling that he had fucked up, that he was dirty. And that was the issue._

_The hickeys he had wanted so badly from Bill now made him feel dirty. They were a reminder of how he was tainted, how he was fucked up and wrong and- He pushed back the toxic thoughts, always, but they were still there. They came out when he was afraid to. He didn't know why he was so afraid of having the losers see, of telling them at all. They'd be understanding, he hoped, but he had never met anyone that was kind about his sexuality - nobody other than Bill, who was in the same boat, who had to be kind about it. He feared that his friends would look at them differently, like they'd see the marks on his chest and just_ know. 

_And they'd think he was dirty._

_Stanley also feared that the losers would be weirded out by it, that they'd think Stan and Bill looked at the rest of them with the same eyes they gave each other. It wasn't true, Stan didn't even think it possible for him to sexualise any of the other losers like that, but what if they thought he had? What if they felt like he and Bill were perverts, watching them and enjoying the sight of them splashing around half naked? If he thought about that too hard it made him queasy. He didn't want to make his friends uncomfortable._

_He knew that was irrational. At most, he'd get a few snarky comments off Richie, but he even doubted that much. They'd probably be stunned into silence, too stunned to question it all. They wouldn't even need to question, because the marks would say it all. The losers knew that Stan didn't have some mystery girlfriend he was hiding. They'd see them, and they'd know exactly who's mouth had pressed them there. And nobody would say a thing._

_Stanley knew that, because he knew that Bill was right. The losers already knew._

_Eddie Kaspbrak was the first to realise that Bill and Stanley were more than just, Bill and Stanley. They were BillandStan, inseparable and unwilling to part for anyone or anything. The idea first occurred to him when he was fifteen, and Bill kept staring at Stan at the quarry, not how they looked at each other, but in the same way he had once stared at Beverly. He was looking in awe, not in curiosity or accidentally gazing in that direction, but staring with eyes full of hope and wonder and adoration - or if Eddie was being blunt, lust. He recognised the look because it was the same one he found himself giving Richie before he'd snap his head away in shame. It wasn't long before Eddie noticed that Stan was returning the stare, always ending up flustered and staying in the water an extra couple of minutes whilst everyone else got dressed, something Eddie had shamefully done once or twice after Richie had accidentally squeezed his thigh underwater. Accidentally, of course._

_All the signs were there. Eddie knew the signs better than anyone, because he was trying so hard to give those same signs to Richie. He wasn't as fortunate as Bill or Stanley. Richie wasn't queer, Richie didn't love him. He looked at the relationship between Stan and Bill and ached for the same thing, but he knew it was nothing more than a pathetic daydream. If Richie Tozier wanted him, he would've been on his knees years ago. Richie knew that too, and continued to tease him with the same flirtatious undertone as he always had. Eddie simply dreamed that in some universe, in at least one lifetime, he would learn how it felt to have Richie fall in love with him._

_Mike was the second to figure it out. There had always been a curiosity, ever since he joined the losers club, about the nature of their friendship. They were close, always so close. But then they weren't for a while, and Mike noticed that. There was a period where they acted like they barely knew each other, and then, overnight, they were back to normal. At least, their version of it. The losers normal was different, much more intimate, probably as a result of their trauma._

_Killing a murderous clown in your local sewer was a spectacular bonding experience, he had learned._

_But Stan and Bill were closer than the others, together almost constantly, hanging out without the other losers on a consistent and noticeable level. His mind never wondered to the right place at first. He felt like they had a secret, like they knew something nobody else did, but the whole gay thing didn't occur for a while, his mind brushing over the thought as if it was just as ridiculous as any other. Mike only put the final pieces together after Stan started asking him about sex. He didn't quiz Stan, though he wanted to, he knew it wasn't his place. And there was no real need. There was no girl in Stan's life, he knew that much. The only people Stan spoke to outside of teachers and his parents were the losers. There were a couple of girls in the Jewish community he had spoken of before, but not like that, turning his nose up when Richie asked if they were 'fuckable'. And anyway, if Stan had gotten a girlfriend before any of the others, he would never have shut up about it, or about her._

_It was obvious really, there was only one person in Stan's life that sex would have been on the cards with. Mike was shocked when the penny dropped. He had wondered if Eddie was that way inclined, but everyone had gathered that conclusion. Stan and Bill were much more ambiguous about it, coming across as well, normal. Not that it wasn't normal, it was just unfamiliar. He didn't really care though, so long as they were safe and happy. Mike, of all the losers, knew what it was like to be an outcast minority. Being one of few black people in Derry, he knew all to well how disgustingly awful it was to be oppressed and discriminated against. He would never, ever have allowed the same treatment to be pressed on another person - especially not one of his best friends._

_So, when Stanley spoke of sex as if was coming soon, as if it was inevitable, Mike told him the same as he would've if Stanley was seeing a girl. It was no different, he concluded._

_Ben was the third. He had, unbeknownst to them, seen them share a kiss in Bill's car. Bill had parked up in a back street, waiting for the other losers to arrive. It had been a risky kiss, a reckless decision on Bill's part, but worth it to watch Stan get so needy and flustered. Ben had not entirely enjoyed that sight, half uncomfortable with what was to him, an alien concept, but it did warm him watching how lovingly they had held each other, sharing a kiss that Ben felt belonged in some cliche romance film. They didn't know anyone else was there, and Ben had waited behind a tree for a couple of minutes before announcing his presence to the pair. He was shocked, but mostly because his innocent mind wasn't used to seeing physical displays of affection that passionate. He didn't care that they were gay though - if that was even what they were - Ben knew that there was more than just gay and straight, and knew that he'd love them regardless of what they identified with. But it was new, it was a shock, and it was something he didn't completely understand. He wanted to though, he wanted to understand for them. Plus, he was secretly relieved about Bill being into Stan - better than him still loving Bev, he supposed. Ben promised himself that he would tell nobody of what he'd seen, and he didn't._

_Richie was the last. He had worked it out after a particularly interesting conversation with Eddie about sucking dick, a topic not out of the ordinary for the two._

_"I reckon I'd be good at it," Richie said, chuckling, "Fucking huge mouth, could probably take myself-"_

_"Like you haven't tried," Eddie had interjected, definitely correct in his assumption. "Anyway, can you just shut up? Stop going on about sucking dicks-"_

_"You love it when I talk about dick Eds," Richie scoffed, "I just want to know how to do it, like, the logistics - what if you choke? Fuck, imagine choking to death on a penis, what a way to go! I mean, obviously, I've had my dick sucked plenty of times, but I don't know how they do it, like, their mouths are so-"_

_"I don't want to hear about your imaginary sexual encounters," Eddie cut in, covering his ears. Richie had laughed at that, but he didn't protest, didn't try to tell Eddie that those encounters weren't figments of his imagination. Eddie knew better, and Richie had no one around to impress. "Don't ask me about dicks. I'm not even..." Gay._

_Only, Eddie wasn't good at lying. And not Richie. "Of course not, Eds."_

_"Go ask Stan if you're that desperate to know." The comment slipped out. Eddie forgot that the other losers didn't know, not he was one hundred percent certain that his speculation was correct, but even so, it was like the unspoken truth of the losers club. Nobody had said it out loud before. Stan. Gay. Eddie had said enough for Richie to click. If he'd had a beverage in his mouth, a large spit-take would have followed Eddie's statement. Instead, Richie's jaw just hung open, his eyes wide with realisation._

_"Are you really telling me that Stanley fucking Uris has sucked a dick?"_

_"Did you not..." Eddie thought it was obvious. He had lost count of the times he'd caught Stanley and Bill eye-fucking each other. He had known it for so long, that the idea somebody hadn't figured it was quite absurd. "Oh. Nevermind. Ignore me-"_

_"Who's dick?" Richie quizzed, but as soon as he had asked, his mind told him the answer. "Bill? You're fucking shitting me-"_

_"No!" Eddie was far too defensive, defensive over something that he didn't even know was true. He supposed that was worse, to tell Richie that Stan had sucked Bill off when he didn't even know it was true. Maybe Bill did all the sucking. Or maybe they didn't do that at all, and Eddie was just delusional, his brain reading into an innocent friendship as a result of his own sexual frustration. "I mean, maybe. I don't know. Speculation, Richie. It would make sense."_

_And it did. Richie began to notice after that, all the things he didn't know how he missed before. He found amusement in the situation, the pair hiding something so painfully from their friends, maybe because they liked the sneaking around. Richie thought he would like that kind of secrecy too. But beyond the amusement, he was happy for them._

_They deserved a happy ending._

_Stanley and Bill had no idea how each loser had figured it out, but it became obvious once they all clicked. They left Bill and Stan to their own devices, not bothering the two if they were sat further away from the rest of them, in their own world. Richie stopped making constant gay jokes, or made his straight jokes more inclusive - which was more a testament to his own confusion than anything else. The rest of the losers would smile at them fondly whenever they displayed affection towards one another. There was an unspoken awareness. It wasn't much, it wasn't obvious, but in that moment, Stan realised that it was there and it didn't matter whether or not he took his shirt off, it wouldn't matter if he greeted them wearing a rainbow flag, if he screamed his love for Bill Denbrough from the rooftops - they'd still all know. And nothing would change._

_"They know," Stan whispered, to himself more than to Bill, as if he was confirming it out loud. "Oh, fuck, they know, Bill!"_

_"So what?" Bill had always wanted them to. He had always wanted to shamelessly show off his boy, gush about him, kiss him, and have people gush for him and tell him it was okay. He believed it would make him feel more normal, and it did._

_"Right," Stan said, forcing a smile, "So what." Bill's smile was so wide that it forced his eyes shut. He didn't think he could grin any bigger, shine any brighter. But then Stan proved him wrong again._

_He kissed him._

_Bill gasped at the contact, but pushed into it, kissing back with everything he had. He knew the losers were watching them, the splashing stopped, the yelling ceased. All eyes on them. And neither one of them cared._

_It wasn't a sexual kiss, there was no need or tension, it was soft and loving, no tongues or panting, no hands wrapped up hair or legs falling between each other. They were stood on the rocks, fingers linked together as their lips innocently locked. It was a display of affection for each other, but also one tame enough for their friends to be able to deal with witnessing. Richie wolf whistled, and Stan found himself giggling, breaking apart, only to hold up his middle finger. Bill was laughing, and the others soon joined in._

_"You're disgustingly cute," Richie said, "And disgustingly obvious." Stan was blushing, his hands frozen over his top button, still uncertain. Bill nodded, and the rest of the losers turned back to their games. Stan undressed as quickly as possible and organised his clothes on the side. He was about to run into the water, but Bill scooped him up from behind. If they hadn't just kissed, the gesture would have been considered platonic. He pressed another kiss into Stan's neck, and Stan's eyes opened wide as he realised his chest was on full show to the rest of the losers. Richie was cackling at the sight, yelling comments about Bill being hungry, and Eddie's eyes were wide with shock, but they didn't really give a shit. They just found it funny, which was understandable._

_"Get a room," Mike called, but he was grinning at them, proud. Bill pressed a final kiss to Stan's forehead, he scrunched his nose and edged away, but he was smiling._

_That day, they all were._

\- 

The run to Mike's was done in silence, their hands clasped and their breaths threatening to run out the entire journey. Bill banged on Mike's door with a desperate force, unnecessary considering the speed in which it was opened. Both boys were relieved to see that it was Mike behind it, his eyes riddled with confusion and concern. 

"Are you okay?" He asked, eyes darting between the two. If they were okay, they wouldn't have gone to him, and Mike gathered as much just from how traumatised they both looked. Stan's face was puffy, red and wet. Bill looked lost, the same terror in his eyes that Mike recalled seeing all those years ago in the sewers. "Come in, come in." He stepped aside, and the two shuffled in, breathless but temporarily relieved to be somewhere less exposed.

"We were c-cau-caught," Bill whispered. It was an ambiguous statement, and left Mike with more than a fair few questions. Caught by who? Doing what? How? What was Mike supposed to do? Before he could ask any of the above, Bill continued, "I-I-It was my f-fault. They c-caught us, Mike. Our p-parents." 

It answered the majority of Mike's questions. He hoped to God that they weren't caught doing what he thought, but he was certain that was the case. Mike knew enough about the Rabbi to know that if he had caught Stan and Bill doing...that, Bill would probably have had his head put through a wall. But whatever was seen, was clearly enough, and judging by how distressed they both were, the consequences of said event were going to be brutal. Mike felt his heart break for them in that moment.

_They deserved a happy ending._


	7. 7

They explained it all to Mike, why they had to run, how they had been caught, what this meant now. He felt their burning devastation and wanted nothing more than to help them, than to save them as they had saved him all those years ago - when he was friendless and alone and getting fucking tortured by Bowers and co. In that moment, he wanted to help them more than he wanted anything else in the world.

But he couldn’t.

“I don’t know if you’ve thought this through,” Mike said, his voice soft. Bill and Stan were cuddled up in the corner of his single bed, he was sat on the other end, head against the wall as he stared at the two, bewildered. 

“We don’t have time to think it through,” Stan replied, voice shaking and thick. It was a wonder he was getting words out at all. “We’re fucked if we don’t do this!” 

“There are other options,” Mike offered, but he wasn’t sure what those were. He just knew there had to be some alternative to running. He wasn’t surprised that Bill was so into that plan though. Bill was a hopeless romantic, and he had a tendency to daydream and fantasise, Mike knew this was going to be yet another one of his deluded and desperate ideas.

It was Stanley that surprised him, because he seemed equally as keen, and that was beyond out of character for him. As far as Mike knew, at least. Stanley came across as so well put together. He was nothing if not organised, and thought out every single thing he did and said - so everyone thought. Stanley couldn’t have been less like a run-away if he tried, spontaneity was rarely his style, and this wasn’t just a spontaneous bike round around town, or a random last minute day trip. This was a life changing and incredibly reckless decision, and he was purposely choosing to ignore all the potentially dangerous consequences. 

“You can’t just bolt,” Mike continued, shaking his head at them, “Do you even have the money to?” 

“Stop trying to-“ Stanley didn’t want to see sense. He didn’t want to think logically. He’d done enough of that, always tried to do the right thing, the smart thing - and look where it had gotten him. “Don’t talk us out of this, Mike. Please.”

“I just don’t want you to anything you’ll regret,” Mike sighed, lost. Mostly, he was concerned for them because he feared they’d wind up in an even worse situation. There was also the selfish part of him, that simply didn’t want two of his best friends to leave. They still missed Beverly to a painful degree, especially since the letters had stopped, and Mike wasn’t sure the rest of them would cope without Bill and Stan. 

“I won’t regret this,” Stan insisted, but he wasn’t certain. Stanley, despite popular opinion, was capable of being very erratic, very reckless. It was a side of him that rarely showed because he felt like he had a role to play, like if he didn’t conform to his usual codes then people wouldn’t approve. Like right then. He knew that it was brash and ridiculous, he knew that they would probably only get so far, but that wasn’t the point. He didn’t give a shit if they only lasted two days outside of Derry - he just wanted to run. It was rare that Stanley felt the urge to rebel, to go against every sense he had, but the few times he had, there had been no regret. 

-

_“Where are we going?” Stanley asked, still chuckling at whatever stupid thing Bill had just said. He was happy that day, happier than he had felt in a while, for no particular reason. It was Saturday evening, and Bill had just picked him up for a ‘drive’._

_“Nowhere, somewhere,” Bill said, smirking. Stan rolled his eyes, but the grin was still fixed on his face. He didn’t think anything could wipe it off that day. The newfound joy was liberating.  
“What’s the occasion?” Stan quizzed, playing with the radio. “What did I do to be blessed with a romantic drive on this fine evening?” Bill chuckled at the comment, but he was entirely focused on the road. He was finding the drive harder than he thought, struggling to remember the directions that Jim from math had given him. _

_“I juh-just…appreciate you,” Bill said, “And I-I-I wah-wanted to do something sweet.” Stan was blushing to an embarrassingly cute degree._

_“So you can be cute,” Stan mock-gasped, “Makes a change Denbrough-“_

_“Sh-Shut up,” He scoffed, laughing, “I do one gross thing and you won’t let it go-“_

_“There’s a long list of gross things,” Stan countered, “But I won’t bring it up seeing as you’re being all romantic and stuff. Or maybe I will, because I don’t think I’ll ever recover from the time you made me sniff your finger after-“ He shuddered at the memory, but he was laughing._

_“That was hilarious,” Bill protested, “Richie would have been so proud of me.”_

_“That’s not a good thing-“ Stan cut himself off, taking in his surroundings after realising Bill had made a different turn off. “Where the fuck are we going Bill?”_

_“You’ll s-see,” Bill said, making another turn onto a gravel path, “Almost here.”_

_“We’re in the middle of nowhere,” Stan sneered. “Are we lost again?” It had happened before. Bill’s navigation skills were not the strongest, and he had chosen to listen to Richie’s alternative routes._

_“Nope.” Bill pulled up, and Stan took in their surroundings, confused yet half-impressed. He hadn’t been paying detail to the windows on the drive, assuming Bill was going to take him to the movies or the quarry or some random field. This was better, much better._

_They were in the middle of what seemed like nowhere. The road was nothing but a gravel path, and Bill had drove slightly off from it, pulling up behind what seemed to be small, decaying bridge. A small stream ran under it. There seemed to be nothing for miles, even though Derry was only a short drive away._

_“It’s pretty,” Stanley mumbled, taking it all in. Bill unbuckled his seat beat and leaned over, pressing a kiss into Stan’s hair. “Why here?”_

_“No-buh-buh-body comes here,” Bill explained, “Thought we could make it our s-spot. Trees, so muh-maybe you can bird watch. Ah-And it’s peaceful and-“_

_“How did you find this place?” Stan asked, interrupting. He didn’t need any more convincing._

_“I uh oh-overheard Jimmy Jones talking about it,” Bill said, blushing, “He used to take his girlfriend here-“_

_“To fuck?” Bill’s face said it all. Stan burst into another fit of laughter._

_“I-I-I don’t know,” Bill lied, “I mean, I guess. He gave me directions, thinks I’m bringing some girl up here-“ They were both laughing, more so because it felt good to laugh about. It usually hurt, it usually brought a sinking feeling of shame on Stanley when he thought about the heteronormativity that surrounded them, but in that moment, with only Bill, it was comical. Bill was most definitely not taking any girls up there._

_“You gonna fuck me in the backseat then?” Stan sneered, “Is that your big romantic plan? Pull a Jimmy Jones, homo style-“_

_“N-N-N-N-No!”_

_“Of course not,” Stan chuckled, shaking his head at Bill. He unbuckled his own seat belt though, and began climbing through the middle into the backseat. “You’re not fucking me in the back of your car, but I didn’t sit there for that long making eyes at you to come up here and sit there taking in the view.”_

_The part of Stan’s mind that usually told him he was doing wrong, that he was disgusting and dirty wasn’t there at that moment. Stan didn’t know where it was, didn’t care. For once, he didn’t have the ghost of his Father’s voice in his ear, there was no heavy sense of guilt, there was no regret waiting on the side, ready to take him in when he went too far. Stanley felt free._

_Bill noticed the difference, and acknowledged how out of character it was for Stan. He didn’t want to take advantage of the good mood, but he hoped and prayed it wasn’t going to end anytime soon._

_“Stop gawking at me like that,” Stan said, but he was smirking. Bill hadn’t even realised how blatant his awe had been, and shook the look off his face, blushing. He couldn’t have been in the backseat quicker, practically vaulting through the gap and onto the middle seat. Stan giggled._

_“I didn’t bring you here fuh-for any reason other th-than to suh-spuh-spend time with you.”_

_Stanley knew it was true, knew Bill never ever pressed for anything more than what Stan was willing to offer. He knew Bill didn’t care about anything beyond being in his presence, and it made him disgustingly happy._

_“Fucking kiss me Bill.”_

_“I’m trying to be ruh-romantic, Stanley,” Bill sighed, but he complied, leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to Stan, who opened it up immediately. It didn’t take long for them to wind up in what was usually their end point - Bill on top of him, held there by Stan’s thighs as his hands roamed up his shirt (why was it still on? nobody wanted that?). The kisses were lazy, more focus being on the painful friction of hips rocking into hips._

_Nothing had ever gone further than that. Bill had asked, just once, and Stanley wasn’t ready. He never asked again, figuring that if he ever wanted more, Stanley would say so. Bill feared he never would, that it was too much for Stan, that it crossed the line for him. Stanley had believed that to be the case too. At least, until that moment._

_For the first time in his life, what they had just wasn’t enough. He wanted more, and he didn’t care if that crossed the line of sodomy, he didn’t care if that meant he really was gay, he didn’t care about anything but getting what he wanted. He didn’t care about the consequences anymore, didn’t care about rationality or thinking it through._

_Bill was kissing his neck, his lips soft and breath hot against the skin as he panted from the pressure. Stanley pressed up again and he fucking whined, his lips straight below Stan’s ear. The sound was musical. “I-I-I-I…We nuh-nuh-need to s-stuh-stop.”_

_“I don’t want to,” Stanley moaned, sliding his hand through Bill’s hair as he sat up enough to face him, eye to eye. Stanley looked up at him with lust blown pupils. “We don’t have to stop.”_

_“I’ll come,” Bill told him. Stanley smiled._

_“Don’t you want to?” He asked, almost innocently._

_“Nuh-nuh-not in my pants,” Bill scoffed. “Unless-“_

_“Take them off.” Bill pinched himself. “Did you just-“_

_“Th-Thought I was dreaming-“_

_“I’ll change my mind,” Stanley said, but he was giggling. Bill laughed too, and they kissed again, a quick, soft one. “I want to do this, Bill. I really fucking want to.”_

_“Are you sure?”_

_“More sure than I’ve ever been.”_

_So they did it. It was messy, and Bill really hated himself for not having those tissues in his glove box, but they fucking did it. Stan was slow and gentle with his hands, but even so Bill barely lasted over five minutes, Stan even less with the speed of Bill’s wrist. They laid there after, for at least an hour, soft kisses and light conversation as they cuddled. It was dark, and it grew chilly, but it still felt safe._

_“Do you regret it?”_

_“Not a single bit, Billy.”_

-

Stanley had a knack for knowing when he was making a bad choice. Running didn’t feel like one. 

“The police will find you before you’ve even made it out of the state,” Mike said, “They’ll look for your car, Bill.” 

“They probably won’t even look for us,” Bill said, “Th-think about it. Even if our parents bother ruh-reporting us missing, cops don’t care about muh-missing kids in Derry. And we’re eighteen, so we’re runaways, and we’re allowed to be, buh-because we’re adults. Cops won’t care. Neither will my parents.” It was something Stan hadn’t even considered before, and he was relieved that Bill had defeated the argument before it slipped into his head.

“Right,” Mike huffed, loathing the fact that there was truth to what they were saying. “I guess. But what about money? Where are you going to work - and live-“

“We’ve slept in the car before,” Stan shrugged, as if that was a real long term solution. He didn’t care how crazy he sounded. “And I have a savings account, and Bill does too, and-“

“Stanley-“ Mike tried to cut him off, tried to make him understand.

“Mike,” It was Bill that cut him off, “Please huh-help. We know i-it’s stuh-stupid. Just let us-“

“I can’t let you,” Mike sighed, “And Eddie wouldn’t let you. Or Richie, or Ben or whoever- I can’t help you do this. If you went and…I don’t know, something happened, I could never forgive myself.” 

“What are you not understanding?” Stanley snapped, throwing his hands in the air, Bill pulled him back, pressing his head against his shoulder. “There is no way this can end well, Mike. But this way, it can end with me and Bill together-“ His voice cracked, “And that’s how it has to end.” 

“There’s no guarantee,” Mike said, knowing that his lack of support would only further anger them. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to support them, he wanted to, he just wanted them to be safe and healthy more. “Surely you know that?”

“There’s never guarantee.” There was certainty in Stanley’s voice, and it pained Mike to hear it. 

“That’s not true Stanley,” Mike was not going to give up trying to talk sense into them, regardless of how little they wanted to hear it, “Sometimes, there is. Sometimes, our judgement of situations is clouded and-“ 

“My judgement is fine,” Stanley lied, “I know what I want-”

“Stanley,” Mike cut in, his voice harsher than he had heard it in a long time, “This isn’t about what you want! This is about your safety and your options and your future. Sometimes you have to do the hard thing. I wish you didn’t, I wish it was different, but surely you both know that there is no way out of this, right? There’s nowhere to run, especially not from hate like that.” Mike knew better than anyone. It was one of the many things his father had taught him.

There was a drawn out pause when Mike stopped talking. Stanley was staring at him, mouth hanging open as if he was about to start talking, but he was stumped. Bill was the same, his head resting on Stan’s shoulder, eyes and mouth screwed tightly shut, as if he was forcing them together in fear of falling apart any more. 

“Fuck you,” Stanley sobbed, after a solid minute of cutting silence, “Fuck you, for being right. I don’t want to leave, I can’t leave!” Bill’s arms tightened around him. Mike watched them, half-glad he didn’t fully understand the pain they were both clearly in. He didn’t know what it was like to be in love, and aside from his parents, he had never really seen any genuine examples of two people who were really in love each other. But then there was Bill and Stan, and he felt like he could feel the ghost of their pain with them. If that wasn’t love, he would never see it. 

“I’m sorry,” Mike didn’t feel like he could say it enough. “I wish…I wish I could help you more. I wish I could let you do this.”   
“You can’t st-stop us,” Bill protested, but even he was beginning to see the flaws in their plan. Mike was forcing them to be honest with themselves, and it was fucking dreadful. 

“No,” Mike said, “I can’t stop you. If you leave right now and drive as far as your car will take you, there’s no way I can stop you from doing that. But you won’t do that. You didn’t come to me for help, you came to me because you needed a fucking reality check.” 

“That’s not-“

“Here’s the deal,” Mike didn’t care to listen to either of their defences. He knew he was right, knew his friends like the back of his hand. “You can stay here the night, I’ll crash on the couch. You two talk it over. If you want to go during the night, I can’t and won’t stop you. If you stay, I promise we’ll do everything we can to figure out a way for Stan to stay. Deal?”

“I don’t like that,” Stan muttered, sighing. But they agreed anyway. Mike hugged them both goodnight, and went downstairs. He wasn’t a religious boy by any means, but that night he prayed to every available God that his friends would still be there the next morning.


	8. 8

“I want to go,” Stanley said, as soon as Mike’s movements downstairs came to a halt. They had feared him overhearing, feared allowing him to hear something that would hurt him. “I want to leave, Bill. Coming here was a mistake.” 

They’d been there around two hours, and there was no chance anybody was going to go looking there. It was safe, in some aspects, but Mike’s undying wisdom had made the venture there dangerous because it was making the pair doubt themselves. It was making them change their minds. 

“I don’t know,” Bill whispered, shocked that it was coming from his own lips. He had been so sure that running was the right thing, that letting Stanley leave wasn’t an option, but now… 

Now he didn’t know. And he was never anything but honest with Stanley. 

“I’m going to be leaving Derry either way, Bill,” Stanley cried, borderline hysterical, “Let it be with you!” 

The way he sounded broke Bill’s heart, more so than the situation in its entirety. He had never heard love in a voice the way there was love in Stan’s, shining through the desperation in his tone. And it was love for him - Bill had once believed that would never be possible. He had once believed that Stanley would never even look at him like that.

Stanley hadn’t wanted to. 

-

_“Do you think any of it is true?” Bill asked Stanley. They were sat on the rope swings in Ben’s back garden, Bill with his back to the house, pushed back to face Stanley, who was facing the house, eyes glued to it with a vacant glare. “What they all say about us - do you think it could be true?”_

_“No,” Stanley said, his voice monotonous. “Not one bit.”_

_The other losers were inside, helping Eddie clean up his bruises after some of the bullies in their grade had attempted to beat him up. They called him a faggot, a queer, and some other words with similar meanings. When the rest of the losers arrived on the scene, the same nasty names were hurled at them, but the bullies fled when Richie opened his mouth back at them._

_“Why not?” Bill asked. He hadn’t brought it up to the others, far too afraid to have that conversation, but it was different with Stanley. Stanley was his best friend, and maybe the wisest of the gang. Bill had been meaning to ask the question for a while, mostly because he was genuinely curious._

_“None of us are fags,” Stan replied, as casually as if he’d just said ‘the weather is nice today’. The comment caused an uncomfortable stirring in Bill’s stomach. In his head, he pretended like he didn’t know why, though his heart was much too self aware for that kind of pretence. “Therefore, it’s not true.”_

_“What if some of…” He didn’t know how to phrase that sentence without outing himself, and he was nowhere near ready for that. They were fourteen, and Bill knew that confessing something so outlandish would make Stanley, and the rest of the losers, a little uncomfortable. They were much too young to understand, and society in general didn’t want to understand. “What if it is true though? M-Maybe Eddie is- buh-because he gets so d-defensive ah-and-“_

_“It doesn’t mean he’s…” Stan, for some reason, struggled to find a word to settle on. “I doubt he’s one of them. Anyone would get defensive about that.”_

_“But why?” Bill was different, he had always known, to some degree. He was only just pinning it though, only just understanding exactly what everything he felt and thought really meant for him. His biggest concern was how that was going to change how everyone saw him - would they still see him as a figure worth trusting and respecting so highly if they knew?_

_“Because…” So he was forcing Stanley to think about it. Why would it be an issue if one of them was queer? Why would that matter? Why were they all so defensive about it if it didn’t really matter? “Because, Bill, people think we’re weird enough already. It’s one thing being Jewish, or being black, or- It’s one thing being a loser. I don’t wanna be a queer loser.”_

_“Nobody wah-wants to be,” Bill snapped back, a little too defensively. But it was true, for Bill. He didn’t want to be, he just was._

_It was true for Stanley too. He just wasn’t ready to put that much thought into it, too humiliated and disappointed in himself to even comprehend actually embracing it, and instead focusing on trying to stop it from being true. In another life, he would sometimes daydream, maybe it would be different, maybe he’d be allowed to embrace all the thoughts he pushed back, and be who he really was without shaking at the thought of how harshly the bullies would respond to such a thing._

_Maybe one day, it wouldn’t be so frowned upon. Maybe one day, nobody would care. He didn’t think that day was coming._

_“What’s your point?” Stanley asked._

_“I just feel like if eh-everyone else thinks it there hah-has to be some truth,” Bill replied. It was as honest as he was willing to be. “Like maybe we’re muh-missing something. They don’t call Mike gay, or Ben, or Richie.”_

_“So what you’re saying is that because me, you and Eddie get called queer, we might be?”_

_“Not exactly,” Bill lied. It sounded stupid when Stanley put it like that, and Bill didn’t doubt that it would plant a seed of suspicion about Bill’s sexuality in his head, and he wasn’t willing to stick by his point when Stanley clearly didn’t want to hear it, but it didn’t make him doubt it either. People were easy enough to read. There were other things for them to pick at, but they always chose that, always focused on their effeminate habits. Bill had noticed it in others - there was a boy a few years older than them who everyone suspected, the losers included, because he was so different, because he was feminine and soft and gentle and never talked to girls. Bill wondered if he gave off the same vibe, if he also had that ambiguous energy around him. “I don’t know. Forget it, it’s st-stuh-stupid.”_

_“It’s not stupid,” Stanley said, backtracking. He knew, in that moment, that Bill was trying to tell him something deeper than that. And it was both admirable and terrifying. “I just…I don’t think people always know what they’re talking about. They say it because they know it bothers us, not because they think it’s true.”_

_But they did think it was true. Everyone thought it was true. Bill included, but maybe that was more wishful thinking, maybe that was his mind trying to make him believe he wasn’t alone._

_“Maybe,” Bill mumbled, defeated and embarrassed. He regretted bringing it up at all. “I hope you’re right.” But he knew he was wrong._

_“I am.” Stan didn’t sound so certain._

_There was a silence, a painfully long one. Eventually, Stanley got to his feet, and began walking back to the house. Bill watched him go, and contemplated running to follow him. He feared what Stan might say to the others if he let him go in alone, but by the time Bill stood too, Stanley had turned around, and was frozen on the spot. He was staring at Bill with a look that Bill couldn’t really decipher._

_“If I am wrong,” Stanley said, emotionless, “I don’t think it matters. You’ll be okay, Bill.”_

But I won’t be, _he thought, slowly walking away. His gaze remained fixed on Bill the whole time._

-

“You’re changing your mind, aren’t you?” Stanley asked, in a tone that was more broken that any he had used before. 

“I-I-I th-think so,” Bill confessed. His grip around Stanley’s waist tightened, as if that was going to reassure him somehow. “I’m sorry Stan-“

“Don’t,” Stanley sobbed, burying his head in Bill’s shoulder. He didn’t understand the change of heart, because Bill was the one living in his head, he was the one living his life through romanticised delusions. “I can’t go Bill. I can’t leave Derry without you.”

“You can,” Bill said, sounding far more certain than he truly was. “How hard would l-long duh-distance be?” 

“I don’t want to even think,” Stanley mumbled. In a half-assed attempt to change his mind back, he began pressing soft kisses into Bill’s neck. Even if it didn’t convince him, he needed the contact, needed to remember exactly how his skin felt and smelt and tasted. 

“You have to th-th-th-think,” Bill sighed. He didn’t want to either, but Mike had talked him into it. This was too big of a deal to fuck up because of how stupidly in love he was. “We have to th-think this th-through, Stan.” 

“We don’t have the time,” Stanley countered, which was an interesting point, because it was hard to think too deeply or logically when they were counting down the hours before they were either found, or forced into accepting their fates. 

“No wuh-we don’t,” Bill replied, “Which is wuh-why you have t-to sp-spend it wisely. Sitting ah-and c-crying won’t solve this.” It hadn’t entirely sank in, the fact Stan was going to leave, the fact this could be their final night for a long, long time. It didn’t feel real, but it hurt like hell, and Bill didn’t want to fuck up their chance at a future because he couldn’t deal with any of it. He had to think. Stanley did too. 

So that’s what he did. Stanley took another couple of minutes to cry, before he eventually wiped his eyes and sat upright. Bill followed the motion and waited for him to speak up, watching silently as Stan’s eyes focused on the small Polaroid of the losers sitting on Mike’s bedside table. He didn’t want to push Stanley to speak, or come to a premature conclusion. He had his own thoughts to process too, and nothing he could say out loud. 

Whilst Stanley was pondering the logistics and likelihood of long distance, Bill was taunting himself with thoughts of how much he was going to miss Stan. He acknowledged that if this was their only option, it was going to be truly tragic, but better than nothing. Better than Stanley leaving and them never seeing each other again. Better than running away and ruining their lives. 

Bill couldn’t remember the last time he and Stan had spent longer than two weeks apart, and even that had been fucking awful. Stanley had gone off on some family holiday, Bill couldn’t recall where exactly, but Bill had been borderline intolerable the entire time he was gone. God-awful moods, an irritating amount of gushing and pining, mixed in with an embarrassing amount of sobbing. The losers were more excited than Bill for Stan’s return. That, for an entire year, was going to be hellish. 

“What if we can’t make long distance work?” Stan asked, quietly. 

“We can,” Bill insisted, too certain. “I-I-I’ll w-wait for you. I don’t c-care about h-how l-long I have to go. We can call and w-write and I can s-save up and drive duh-duh-down to you!” 

“But what if we can’t?” Stanley repeated, as if Bill hadn’t understood. He hadn’t, or so the confused expression on his face suggested. Stan continued, “I might not be allowed to contact home. You won’t know where I am. My Aunt, she might- I don’t know, she might be worse than my Dad.”

“But sh-she m-might not be,” Bill countered, “How can anyone be th-that bad?” Because he was the worst Bill had ever known, in his own experience, and he hoped to God that he would always be the worst. He couldn’t image, didn’t want to imagine, that their was a worse. 

“But what if she is?” Stanley asked, “I can’t live with that. I can’t handle-“ He was crying again, at the mere thought of having to deal with someone worse than his own Father. Someone else with an undying hatred for him and what he was and what he had done-

“She won’t be,” Bill said, though he couldn’t promise anything. “I-I-If sh-she hated that stuff so much, she wouldn’t have a-a-agree to take you in.” There was a point there, but it wasn’t necessarily right. Just because his Aunt was willing to let him live with her, did not mean that she was happy about it, or cared for him at all. She was doing her brother a favour, as far as Stan was concerned, this was all about saving the Rabbi from humiliation. 

“I can’t take chances like that,” Stanley sobbed. Bill sighed, knowing he had a point, and detesting it. 

“But y-y-you have to,” Bill said, “No mah-mah-matter wh-what we do, you’re taking a chance. I-I don’t want you to go, but you c-can’t stay, ah-and we have nowhere to run, no money to run. We can ch-chance a year.” 

“A year is an awfully long time,” Stanley mumbled. Bill nodded. 

“College though,” Bill reminded him, “Three years i-in a doh-dorm, half-way across the coh-country. Then th-the rest of our l-lives.” 

It was a comforting thought, as comforting as any thought could be in that moment. It was all they had to hold onto. 

“I can’t believe I’m leaving,” Stanley sighed, wiping his eyes. He laid down on the bed, and Bill silently watched before sliding back next to him. He pulled Mike’s duvet cover over the top of them both. “This is our last night-“ 

“Don’t,” Bill whispered, because he couldn’t bare that thought. There were silent tears rolling down his face, and when he and Stan entangled themselves, he hoped that Stan couldn’t feel his the same way he could feel Stanley’s against his chest. It was heart breaking. 

“I love you so much,” Stanley said, “It physically hurts me.” He sat up, then adjusted so he was laid face-to-face with Bill, who was crying too hard to really form a coherent sentence, his chest shuddering as he held in the sobs. 

Stanley kissed him, and he cried into it. They continued to kiss until the tears had dried up, until it became desperate and needy and a different kind of passionate. But they weren’t about to do that in Mike’s bed. 

Sleep took over before Bill’s need did though, and he found himself drifting off to the sound of Stan’s steady breath against his ear. 

“This won’t be the last time,” Stanley whispered, so quietly that Bill wasn’t sure he had really said it. It was an unspoken promise. Bill fell to sleep praying he would keep it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im crying because we're so close to the end and i have two possible ends planned so idk ://///// pls leave comments i need motivation and an ego boost !!!!!!


	9. 9

When Bill woke up the next morning he was alone.

“S-Stanley?” He called out, before rushing out of bed. He checked the clock on Mike’s wall, wondering if he had just slept in. It was eight am, so that was unlikely. Stan rarely woke up first. Stan wouldn’t have left without him, would he? 

The panic in Bill seemed irrational, but no thought was calming. He had jumped to the worst case scenario, that Stanley had already fled without him. 

“Mike?” Bill called, alternatively. “Mike!” 

From downstairs, Mike could hear the distressed calls. Before he went up, he searched downstairs, hoping to God that he was milling around in the kitchen or sat in the study flicking through some old book. 

As their luck would have it, Stanley was nowhere to be seen. Mike couldn’t have shot up the stairs any quicker, and found Bill sobbing and crying out at the top of the stairs, borderline hysterical. He hoped that his uncle was out on the farm already, because he would definitely not appreciate this display. 

“He’s gone,” Bill was crying, rocking back and forth. Mike could barely keep back his own tears, overwhelmed by the shock and the confusion and that fucking _panic_ brewing in his gut. But he couldn’t cry, not when Bill was there. One of them needed to hold it together. Instead, he pulled Bill into a warm embrace.

“We’ll find him,” Mike said, though it was no promise, “He can’t have gone far, Bill, think about it. He doesn’t have a car, he can’t access his savings, there’s probably a fucking witch hunt for him in town! He’s got to be here somewhere. If we start looking now, we’ll have a better chance of finding him.”

“I-I-I don’t th-think he wants us to find him,” Bill cried. Mike knew that he was right. Stanley had gone for a reason, to escape. With or without Bill. He wasn’t going to go somewhere that anyone would think to look, which meant finding him was going to be a bit of a bitch. 

“We’ll take my truck,” Mike sighed, standing and pulling Bill up with him, “We can stop off at the other losers’s homes. They’ll help us look. It’ll be fine. It has to be fine.” 

They ran outside, and Bill instinctively reached out to grab the door handle on the truck, only to realise it wasn’t even there. Mike was frozen by the door, feeling for his key in his denim jacket pocket when he looked up.

His entire face dropped, as he quickly learned that finding Stanley Uris was going to be beyond a bit of a bitch. 

“He’s gone,” Bill said it almost casually, but the emotion in his tone was there and obvious if you knew what to listen for. The tiniest waver, that if pushed would have exposed everything. Bill was already crying, he didn’t want to make it worse.

“Then we take your car,” Mike shrugged, running forward. Bill followed him like a lost puppy. He was hardly emotionally fit enough to guide them around town on a wild goose chase, but he had his head together enough to kind of process what was happening.

Stanley had ditched town without him. In the middle of the night. Without saying goodbye. In Mike’s fucking truck. And Mike didn’t even seem angry about it, he was entirely focused and entirely certain that they would find Stan. Bill wished he had that optimism. 

-

“Shit,” Mike hissed, freezing behind a tree. Bill slid beside him, breathing as quietly as possible, though he didn’t even know what was going on. “Bill, the cops are at your house.” 

Bill could have fainted. 

He didn’t, though, instead staying upright and resisting every urge to vomit. In reality, he should have expected this. The Rabbi’s son had disappeared overnight after being caught in an intimate love affair with a no-good-stuttering-waster. Obviously the police were going to be involved. Obviously they would be trying to find them both. Bill didn’t know what to do.

“I can’t g-g-get muh-my car,” Bill mumbled, slumping back against the tree. Mike sighed, running his hands through the little hair he had. This was much to messy for his liking, and the idea of having to run into cops made him feel queasy. Being one of the only black kids in town, Mike had spent an awful lot of time trying to avoid any form of a run-in with a cop. 

Almost defeated, Mike slumped back against the tree too. “We can wait until they’re gone, Bill. Stanley won’t get much further - I was too low on gas for that.” Strangely enough, Bill found himself _laughing_ at that idea. 

“I-I-I don’t b-blame him for running,” Bill said, staring down at his hands. He hoped Mike couldn’t tell how absolutely devastated he was - Bill didn’t like the idea of any of the losers seeing him in such a broken state. “He had to leave, wih-with oh-or wih-without me.” 

Bill briefly wondered if he’d have done the same, but knew that he could never just up and leave without saying goodbye, or at least telling someone where he planned on going. Stanley had actively chosen not to do that because he knew Bill would find a way to talk him out of it. It had been hard, but everything about their situation had been hard. It always was.

“How did it get so bad?” Mike asked, a wary edge to his voice. He had a lot of questions, but his main one was about how on earth they wound up in such a mess. They had informed Mike that they had been caught out, but he simply failed to understand how. Stanley left that part out, probably out of shame. They had always been so careful, Mike couldn’t help but wonder how they had slipped up after so long of hiding it. “How did you get caught?” 

“Because they knew,” Bill replied, which was yet another response Mike found himself trying to decode, “They ah-already knew. We juh-just gave them proof.” 

-

_They were clueless._

_Stanley knew, and had accepted, that he was playing a very dangerous game. He thought that he had it under control, that all the cards were in his hands, and that their dirty little secret was safely and securely hidden._

_He was clueless._

_Sometimes, ignorance truly was bliss. Stanley didn’t want to know if his parents were beginning to suspect, he didn’t care to know if they believed his closeness with Bill was peculiar. He wasn’t completely dense, he knew that there was reason for suspicion, but without proof suspicion was useless._

_He didn’t think they would ever get proof, not solid proof. Speculation was nothing, speculation was deniable. Proof was not. And he didn’t know that his Father already had it._

_“Are you sure about this?” Bill asked, for the third time. Stanley removed his lips from Bill’s neck, reluctantly of course._

_“Yes,” He insisted, “Jeez Bill, it’s almost like you don’t wanna get your dick sucked-“_

_“I nuh-never said that,” Bill countered, squeezing Stan’s waist tighter._

_“Shut up then,” Stan said, but there was no bite to it, he was smiling. Bill did as told, letting Stanley get back to kissing him. It wasn’t that he didn’t want it at all, quite the opposite, but he was surprised that Stan did - he was usually opposed to anything in his own home. Bill didn’t understand the sudden change of heart, it was bold and risky. Almost out of character, but only almost. He could be erratic and reckless. This was one of those instances._

_In Stan’s mind, they were completely safe. As far as he knew, his parents weren’t due back for another two hours. That was plenty of time. He was too distracted to think in depth about the consequences. He was too in love to care._

_“O-Oh,” Bill gasped, as Stan slid off of him and sunk down to his knees. “Please, S-Stan…”_

_There was something twisted in the way Stan was looking up at him, eyes dark and smug. It drove Bill insane. And then hand brushing over the front of his underwear did wonders too._

_It was mostly the change that warmed Bill though. It made him happy, especially considering how reserved and cautious Stan had been when they first began doing stuff like this. He wasn’t holding back anymore, for a long list of reasons. Confidence was a big one, and that came with learning and experience, which had made a fucking huge difference. A good one, of course, because now Stan was amazing with his mouth, and he loved using it._

_He cut to using it pretty quickly, and Bill lost his train of thought, unable to focus on anything but Stan and the feeling and the motion. His soft pants were drowned in the music that was blasting from Stan’s record player._

_It was perfect. Too perfect. They were lost in it, in each other._

_So lost, that they didn’t even hear the sound of the car pulling into the driveway. Or the front door being unlocked. Or the footsteps speeding up the stairs. Or at least, not until it was too late._

_By the time the sounds had registered, Stan’s bedroom door was thrown open. It had been done with purpose, with force. Like they knew exactly what they were about to see. Not with the respect his parents usually had for his privacy, no knock, no gentle call. They were barged in on. Intently._

_It was a sight to behold, as well. Not one that either one of Stan’s parents had expected to see. Their only son on his knees in front of his desk, hands gripping the other boy’s thighs, lips and face flushed deep red. The activity Stan had been engaging in was very self-explanatory. They were just thankful they couldn’t see the gory details._

_Everyone remained frozen, Bill gripping the edge of the desk so hard he was sure his nails would dig through the wood. Stanley’s parents in the doorway, mouths open and eyes wide in pure horror. Stan, still on his knees, gipped at the sight._

_The noise was what snapped everyone out of it._

_Bill jolted back, as if the touch had been burning him, tucking himself back in, as if he had any dignity left to lose, and backing as close to the wall as he could get. Stan mirrored him, jumping back and to his feet, choked for breath._

_His Father, Donald, walked back out of the room without saying a thing, which both boys acknowledged was not worst case scenario. Not yet, at least. His Mother, Andrea, began to cry, shaking her head slowly._

_“I thought your Father was wrong about you, Stanley,” She sobbed, looking at him with a lovelessness that Stan had never seen before. His breath hitched, as if he had just been punched in the gut. He had, metaphorically. “How could you do this to me?”_

_“Mom-“ It was the first word he had said, and was barely audible over the music still blasting from his record player._

_“No,” She cut in, with the coldest voice Stan had ever heard her speak with, “Don’t.”_

_“But-“_

_“I said don’t!” It was yelled, something his Mother never did. She was always calm, the opposite of her husband in more ways than one. Her eyes turned to Bill then, and they darkened with another spark of hate. Of course they blamed him. “You’ve never been welcome here. Get out of my home, please William. I will only ask you nicely once.”_

_Bill slowly rose, eyes breaking from her twisted gaze to meet Stanley’s. His expression was both unreadable and heartbreaking. He wanted to reach out, pull him into a hug, say goodbye, drag him out too. He did neither, knowing it would be a bad idea. Instead, he buttoned his shirt back up, slowly as if to make a point. He then reached for his jacket, which was thrown across Stan’s bed carelessly. Bill could feel her eyes on him as he slid into it. He turned back to Stan, hoping to any available God that his stare would be able to communicate everything he couldn’t._

_And then, he turned back to Andrea, who opened the door wider for him. He didn’t move straight away, holding her stare. “I love him.”_

_“Get out,” The words were barely audible. Bill remained still for another long few seconds._

_“I love him m-more than you ever have-“_

_“GET OUT!” That time, Bill complied._

-

Stanley Uris hadn’t even made it out of Derry. In all honesty, he hadn’t really wanted to. 

In the heat of the moment, running away alone seemed like the best option - the only option. Stealing Mike’s truck had seemed like an acceptable thing to do. And skipping without saying goodbye had seemed like an easy thing to do. He had been wrong about all of the above, and realised so only twenty minutes into his venture out. 

He continued driving though, going where he knew Bill would eventually think to come looking. He drove to their spot. The place Bill had drove him to all those months ago, back before they had ever really crossed all the lines, before things had gotten so fucked up. 

He shut the engine off and crawled into the backseat, crying once again. He didn’t doubt that Bill would eventually return to this spot, but that didn’t make it easier. He found himself wondering how long he was going to be waiting for his love, and what would happen when he was eventually found? 

Two million questions circled his mind. He had no answers, and tried to block them out. 

As soon as the questions stopped, the memories came back. They were much harder to shut out, he found. 

-

_He thought he had known hopelessness. He thought he had known fear. And thought he had conquered both._

_The hardest part of everything was learning that was entirely wrong. He was hopeless and afraid, and this time he was alone._

_An entire hour passed before he heard footsteps coming back up the stairs. He sat up on his bed, wiping his eyes as if he thought that would be able to hide the red puffy patches beneath. It did nothing, because fresh tears kept falling. More so when his Father entered the room, slowly shutting the door behind him and crouching in front of his son._

_“Look at you now,” Donald whispered, shaking his head, “Broken, broken boy. That’s what sin does. This is what dirty sinners get.”_

_If he expected any response, Donald Uris was out of luck. He continued, pushing Stanley into a deeper emotional state._

_“I always knew it, Stanley,” He said, voice strangely emotionless, “Always knew you were wired wrong. The way you looked at that boy…your eyes say it all. Did you think that we didn’t know? Do you think I’m stupid, Stanley?_ Do you?” 

_“No, Dad,” He replied, voice barely audible. The hurt was immense, and Stan was honestly surprised that was managing to outweigh the guilt. He had expected a lot of that, but somehow it failed to be felt, something he was grateful for. If he had to handle that on top of every other emotion demanding to be felt, Stan was certain he would break beyond repair. He knew, really, that guilt would have been a misplaced feeling - there was nothing to feel guilty about._

_He had done nothing wrong._

_He was the victim. Somehow, that was making it all so much harder._

_“You’re lying again,” His Father sighed, rising. Stan felt much more intimidated now that he was being looked down on. “You lied for so long. You lied to my face, Stanley. That alone deserves punishment, but it’s what you lied about that really hurts. We could have gotten you help, had you put right a long time ago. But no, you kept lying. Because you didn’t want help, did you? That Denbrough boy had already gotten into your head.”_

_Stanley remained silent. He wondered if that was true, if his parents would have ‘helped’, but he didn’t think that was what he had ever wanted - even before Bill. Help meant changing himself, if that were even possible, but Stan didn’t want to change himself. He wanted his parents to change._

_“I don’t understand why,” Donald continued, “I’ve always had a bad feeling about him. He’s got bad blood, Stanley. I’ve said it for years, and I knew, I knew he was tainting you. I just needed proof before I could do anything about it. And now I have it.” He laughed then, and the sound sent a chill down his son’s spine. The sound was menacing._

_“What are you going to do?” Stanley asked, voice shaking. His own mind was jumping to worst case scenario, that he would be sent away. He knew his Father well enough to know that wasn’t a reach, and would have put money on himself being right. That was one bet Stan would’ve won._

_His Father continued to laugh before finally giving him a response. “I’m going to pack you a bag. I’m going to put you in a car. And you’re going to be left with your Aunt in Bangor. She’ll keep you away from any filthy boys. And then, I’m going to make sure the Denbrough’s know how disgusting their child is. I’m going to make sure everyone knows.”_

_Part of Stanley wanted to break down into a sobbing mess, he wanted to curl in on himself and scream into the void. Part of him wanted to simply disappear, die. A different part of him was practically vibrating with rage. Rage coming from a place Stanley really didn’t understand, but rage all the same. And that small feeling was what pushed him to get his words out, to respond so calmly._

_“You won’t do that,” Stanley said, his voice lacking any emotion, “You can’t make me leave. I’m eighteen now. And you won’t tell a soul about Bill, because the last thing you want is people knowing the Rabbi’s only son is a_ fucking faggot. _How’s that gonna look, Dad?”_

_To say Donald was shocked would have been an understatement, but the shock transitioned to fury in no time. He began pacing the room, a menacing action that Stanley felt all the more intimidated by. And then, he spoke up, “I hold all the cards here. Not you. Because I can make this worse for you, Stanley. And I can make it worse for your…friend.”_

__“Boyfriend,” _Stanley corrected, finding power in the word. It was enough to freeze Donald in his place. He was stood with his back to his son, staring at the wooden desk against the wall. “My boyfriend. And you might hold all the cards, but you can’t ever change that.”_

_Within a second, the contents of the desk flew across the room, swiped from their rightful place by Donald’s fist. Stanley jumped back, breath catching in his throat. If that had been the extent of the incident, it probably wouldn’t have mattered so much. Only, his Father didn’t stop there._

_The pinboard was pulled down, contents with. And then the photographs, framed and hung with precision only Stanley was capable of, now cracked on his floor only inches from his feet._

_"Stop!" Stanley knew his effort was pointless. His Father did not stop._

_Next, the drawers under the desk were pulled out, contents scattered across the room. Stanley let out a sound, something between a sob and scream. His Father was triggering his OCD, purposefully, of course. But worse than that, he was exposing him, purposefully. The contents of the drawers hadn’t been strictly private - there were no scandalous items buried away in them - but they were personal. It was where Stanley kept everything that mattered to him. And now all of it was thrown across the floor._

_Countless photographs of Bill, mostly taken on the Polaroid that Mike owned, but some more private and some of them together. Their letters, which were loving but not extreme, including the first postcard Bill had written for him two years back. His bird book - his new one, the one Bill and Richie had chipped to buy him, not the old one his Father had gifted him with years ago. Drawings, ones that Bill had created just for him. Beverly’s last letter to him. His old diary. Miscellaneous sentimental items. All of the above, scattered recklessly across his bedroom floor._

_And now, it was being stomped on, with intense focus on the photographs. Stanley was yelling, begging his Father to stop. And then, his Mother burst back in, watching the scene before her with a look of despair across her face. Stanley didn’t know what that meant._

_“You’re a monster,” Stanley screamed, finally standing. He began picking his belongings back up, holding them to his chest to stop his Father from touching them again. In his arms, were a selection of photographs, the postcard and Bev’s letter. Everything else was being trampled on. “Monster!”_

_“You’re sick, Stanley,” His Mother said to him, eyes unmoving from her manic husband._

_“You can’t do this,” Stanley yelled at her, “You can’t let him do this to me!”_

_“It’s for the best,” She lied, knowing better. It wasn’t like she had a say. It wasn’t like she wanted to. Stanley realised in that moment exactly where he got his weakness from. “You won’t get better here. You can’t heal if you’re around him.”_

_“I don’t want to,” Stanley said, exasperated, “And even if I did, I can’t! I can’t just stop!”_

_He wasn’t humoured with a verbal response. His Mother simply stormed out of the room, turning her back on her son yet again. His Father moved onto the second drawer down - which was filled with underwear. He simply launched it across the room and emptied the third - pyjamas._

_Stanley started throwing his photographs into the bag, along with the letters and everything else he could get his hands on. Though his Father could see and knew what he was doing, he didn’t try to stop him._

_He need not bother, instead letting his son collect all his valuables. When it got to the last letter, Donald knelt down and snatched it up, smirking. It was lengthy, too much so for him to attempt reading it in full. His eyes skimmed over, searching for anything that gave him fuel to fire._

_“Give it back,” Stanley demanded, “Give me-“ He held his hand out, going to grab it, but his Father simply held it out of his reach._

_“I’m reading,” Donald said, voice much too casual for their situation. Stanley knew exactly which letter he had picked up, and internally screamed. It really wasn’t something he wanted eyes other than his own on, and it wasn’t something a homophobe would have a positive reaction to. “Patience please.”_

_Astonished wasn’t the word, but it was something close to the state Stanley was in. The complete switch in his Father’s reaction was scaring him. Unpredictability was not a good thing in a situation like this._

_“It’s private,” Stanley cried out, defeated. His privacy wasn’t a concern of Donald Uris in that moment, or ever._

_“Not anymore,” He scoffed, finally looking back at his son. His look did not reflect that of a parent disappointed in their child, there was no love there. No disappointment either. It was all rage and venom. “You lost that privilege when you sodomised a boy in my home.”_

_The humiliation hit Stanley like a train. He was still processing it all, but realising that his own parents had seen him in such an intimate, vulnerable position wasn’t something he was ready to deal with. There was humiliation, an overwhelming and disgusting amount, but there was no shame, and for that Stanley was thankful. The line between the two was blurred, but after so long of feeling both things so intensely, he could pin point the difference with ease._

_And there was no shame. He had endured far too much of that already. There would never be shame again, not for his sexuality. Not for falling in love. Those emotions didn’t go together._

_“Fuck you,” Stanley spat, snatching the piece of paper from his Father’s hand. It tore slightly, but there was no fight. He knew his Father had seen enough._

_“You don’t speak to me like that,” Donald hissed, “You’re in my home, you respect me.”_

__“I’d sooner eat shit.” __

_“You’re forgetting who I am.” How Stanley hadn’t been punched for his words, he did not know, but he knew he was on thin ice - something both terrifying and liberating. “I raised you, in this very house, I taught you everything. I was patient, I was loving, I was understanding-“_

_“Is this your idea of understanding?” Stanley asked, a question provoked from genuine curiosity above anything. It came out that way too, no bite to it like his last comment._

_“This is good parenting,” His Father replied, because he believed that to be true. “Eighteen years of trying to make you into a good, respectable young man, and this is how you repay me and your Mother. By disrespecting me, by sinning, by engaging in this foul lifestyle.”_

_“I can’t help it,” Stanley said, as if he thought his Father even cared. It was the truth, even if Donald Uris was ignorant to it. Acknowledgement changed nothing, and that was why Stanley failed to feel shame. He couldn’t change it, or help it. And he didn’t want to. There was nothing wrong with him. If God couldn’t help, shame certainly couldn’t. “I can’t stop it or-“_

_“But you can,” Donald said, as if he knew better, “You choose to be this person. You choose to sin. You can choose to stop.”_

_“I don’t want to stop.”_

_“You don’t have a choice anymore-“_

_Stanley knew that was wrong. There had to be other options, and of course there were, but none of which seemed ideal. He supposed that in such a position, there was no space for him to find ideal. He didn’t need ideal, he just needed better. Anything seemed better than going to Bangor._

_“-But you do want to stop, Stanley. You’re no pansy, this boy has gotten into your head. I should never have allowed it to get so far. This is my fault, isn’t it? I should have interfered when I saw how he was looking at you - such a disgusting sight - I should have done something then. But I trusted you, I thought you were better than that. You were supposed to be better than that!” The volume slowly increased._

_Stanley remained silent this time, letting silent tears fall. He knew this wasn’t even nearly over._

_“But you’re not, are you?” His Father asked, though Stanley doubted he was actually hoping for an answer. “You’re not better. You’re just as disgusting, aren’t you? Thinking that you_ love him _…it would be almost comical if it wasn’t so appalling. You can’t be in love with him. You don’t love him.”_

_“I do,” Stanley whispered, so quietly he half hoped his Father didn’t catch it. Donald never missed a trick though, he heard._

_“Tragic,” He scoffed, a violent edge to his voice. “You’re never going to see him again, Stanley, not ever. I’d rather_ drop dead _than allow such a thing.”_

_He left the room then, slamming the door loud as if to make a point. It was then that Stan realised he was shaking, shaking with fear and panic and fury. He didn’t know what he was going to do, he just knew that he had to prove his Father wrong. He would see Bill Denbrough again, he would see Bill Denbrough again for the life of his Father._

_So he waited. His parents came to speak to him again only once, it was his Mother asking him to pack a bag of clothes and go to sleep. They went to bed after that, and Stan waited an hour before he decided to make a move. He slipped on the back pack and went to leave, but the door did not budge. It was locked, from the outside, or at the very least being held shut by something. Stan didn’t know why he was surprised by this, but he was, and panicked._

_Maybe it was the panic that drove him to do it, the unbearable idea of being stuck in that house any longer, of never seeing the love of his life again. Stanley knew his bedroom windows didn’t open far enough for him to climb through, however he also knew that they were his only way out. And he’d have taken the road to fucking hell out of that house if he had to._

_Stanley picked up the chair with it’s hind legs, held it out and swung. It was heavy and wooden, so it did damage without much effort. The window cracked, with a noise loud enough to wake the neighbours. He wasted no time, swinging again with as much force as he could muster. It smashed through that time, shattering right in the centre, but not quite enough. The shards surrounding would definitely cut him if he tried to climb through it like that, so he swung again. By then, he could hear rustling in his parents room. They were light sleepers, and would no doubt be awake and running to his room in the next three seconds. The third swing knocked the rest of the glass out._

_Within ten seconds, Stanley had jumped through and onto the porch roof. He heard the sound of a door being swung open, of footsteps. And as he ran down the street, yelling, screaming. Crying. He didn’t know where to run. He had no solid plan, but he knew that Bill’s was not on option - they’d go there first. He needed somewhere safe, a place he could just take a minute to think._

_His feet took him to the quarry, believing that nobody else would be there._

_He was wrong, but Stanley had never been so thankful for that in his life._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one chap left what the shit am I even ready


	10. 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you didn't think id abandoned this.

They were waiting half an hour for the cops to clear. If Bill could have it his way, he’d have shot straight over the road and into his car, but that wasn’t possible with Mike holding him back whispering rationalities. 

They waited a little longer, until Bill’s father set off to work, his face furrowed with concern in a way Bill hadn’t seen for a long time. He felt a pang of guilt at that, remembering how it had screwed up the same way back when they were looking for Georgie, back when they had hope and people cared. It was then that Bill’s mind was set solid - he couldn’t run away with Stan.  
The Denbrough’s couldn’t both sons. 

“Be quick and quiet,” Mike said, walking to the front door. They hadn’t spent the entire hour in concerned silence, of course, they had a plan. Mike was going to go to the front door, ask Sharon Denbrough if she had seen Bill or Stan - hopefully find out something useful - all while Bill snuck in through the back to retrieve his keys and a bag. Then, when Sharon shut the door, the car.

It wasn’t going to be as easy as that, they knew, but it was the only thing they could do. 

Bill ran round and Mike watched him jump the fence before knocking. The door was answered immediately, but the woman’s face dropped when she saw Mike stood there, as if it wasn’t who she was hoping for. Mike understood. 

“Hi there,” Mike said, suddenly realising he hadn’t planned exactly what he was going to say. “I uh, I was wondering if uh, you were alright. We heard about-“

“Do you know where they are?” Sharon Denbrough’s voice was desperate, pleading. Mike felt almost guilty, but he knew this was probably nothing more than an act, and then wondered why that was the first thing she had asked. It wasn’t, _‘do you know if he’s okay’,_ or _‘have you heard from him’._ Mike knew that she didn’t care how Bill was, only where he was. Because they didn’t want him running off with another boy. And they didn’t want him running around town humiliating them. Bill’s parents were never the worst of the worst - angels at the side of Sonia Kaspbrak - but Mike knew that they didn’t really care all that much about their son, Bill had told them enough for him to know that. And it wasn’t like he hadn’t seen as much with his own eyes.

“I haven’t heard from them,” Mike lied. He didn’t consider himself a good liar, and it wasn’t something he did often, but when called for they could tumble out like words of raw truth. This, he reckoned, was very called for. “I just, uh, I just wanted to see if you were okay. I think they’ll be just fine, Mrs Denbrough, really.” 

“That’s sweet of you Mike,” She said, though her tone was bordering on cold. “Would you like to come in?”

“I can’t stay long,” Mike shrugged, “Thank you though, I was just passing by and I thought I’d see if everything was alright. I’m going to see Eddie, I’ll let you know if he knows anything.” 

“He doesn’t,” Sharon sighed, “Or, if he does, he won’t speak. The police are going round, house to house. Have they not stopped by the farm yet? I thought Andrea would have…nevermind.” 

“What?” Mike’s voice was soft, encouraging. Sharon gave him an apologetic smile before she continued, and only did so because she was fond of Mike. Most parents were, it was hard not to be, but Mike knew that his charming smile only got him so far.

“Stanley’s mother gave the police a list of addresses,” Sharon explained, “I just assumed that all of Bill’s friends would be questioned, is all. She must not have known yours, no worries. None of the other kids knew anything anyway, or maybe they do, maybe they’re covering. I don’t know.”

“I doubt it.” It was more than doubt, it was certainty. The only loser that knew was stood at Sharon Denbrough’s doorstep lying to her face. Doubt wasn’t really a part of that. 

“You knew what was going on though, didn’t you?” Sharon asked, voice low. Mike nodded, lips pressed together tightly. He hoped, with his entire heart, that she would not speak down on that, because he wasn’t sure that he could hold his tongue if she did so.

“Of course I did,” Mike replied, and then paused before saying, “They were happy, you know.” 

“I know,” She said, “I knew.”

“Bill told you?” Mike remarked, shocked above anything. That made no sense to him, but then again he knew little about Bill’s relationship with his parents - mostly because there wasn’t much of one at all. The thing that threw him off the most was how she had responded. Had she defended him when Andrea and Donald had stormed round? Had she offered words of comfort and support? Had she welcomed Stanley into her home to save him? Absolutely not. 

Maybe she had known, but that didn’t mean she was okay with that. And it certainly didn’t mean Bill was safe with her.

“Never,” Sharon explained, “Bill never told us much at all. I just knew, long before last night. I’m not blind, Mike, I saw how they were with each other. Stanley was constantly visiting, constantly staying the night, and he was welcome, always, but-“

“Is he welcome now?” Mike cut in, his voice cold. He thought that he already knew the answer, but he was wrong. 

“Why wouldn’t he be?” She seemed genuinely confused, and it occurred to Mike that maybe Mrs Denbrough didn’t know how badly Stan’s parents had responded to the situation. Maybe she didn’t even know about the entire situation. “I don’t mind about Bill and his ways. It’s not…I mean, it’s not what I want for him, but _this-_ it doesn’t matter what I want, does it?” 

“Mrs Denbrough,” Mike inquired, “What do you know? What did Stanley’s parents tell you?” Sharon frowned.

“What do you mean?” She whispered, frowning, then louder, “What do you know? You know something, don’t you? There’s a reason you’re here!”

“I uh, I think I can help you,” Mike decided to try a different approach. “Tell me everything you know.” 

Before starting, Sharon leaned against the door frame and sighed heavily. She was drained, and almost hopeless. This time, she was ready to believe her other son was gone with no further fight. She didn’t have much left in her at all, really. “I knew he and Stanley were…fooling around. Bill went out, was out all day yesterday, seeing him. He never came home. The next thing we knew, Donald and Andrea banging on our door because they…well, they caught them. They kicked Bill out, but we don’t know where he went. Then Stanley smashed his window and ran. That’s it, Mike, that’s all we know.” 

“Do you know what they said to him?” Mike asked, “Do you know what they said to Stan?” 

“Do you?” Sharon shot back, her expression hardening. She knew he had lied now, and it was falling into place quicker than Mike would have liked. He didn’t want to tell her too much, but there was no way he could continue to lie now, not to an extreme extent anyway.

“They’re sending him to Bangor,” Mike informed her, “His father trashed his room, screamed at him, threatened to tell everyone what he and Bill were doing and-“ Mike found himself choking up. He hoped that he never had to see Donald Uris again in his life, because he would probably want to hurt him in a lot of ways. 

“They ran, didn’t they?” Sharon gasped, as if the idea had only just occurred to her. 

“They’re at my farm right now, Mrs Denbrough,” Mike lied, “But I swore on my Grandpa’s life I wouldn’t tell a soul. You can head down, say you just wanted to check by, and please, I beg of you, don’t tell Stan’s folks’.” 

The shock on her face was quite surreal, and Mike wondered how much worse it was going to be when she inevitably discovered that he was lying through his teeth. If he respected her any more than he did then he would have probably felt very guilty.

She went to the farm, and Mike insisted he could not return with her. She left him standing on her front porch with a speedy goodbye and without looking back. As soon as the car was out of view, Bill came bursting through the front door. He looked teary eyed, and Mike resisted the urge to quiz that.

They climbed into Bill’s car without saying a word, and it wasn’t until Bill was down the street that Mike decided to speak up again. “Your Mom already knew about Stan.” 

“I heard,” Bill said, flatly, “I huh-heard it all.”

“Oh,” Mike mumbled, unsure about whether that was a good or bad thing. In some ways, he supposed there was comfort in the things his mother had said, but mostly frustration because for all they knew it was too fucking late to say those things. “I’m sorry.”

“Me too.” 

Bill continued driving in silence. He didn’t want to speak, didn’t want to process everything in that much depth, he just wanted to focus on the road, on driving, on finding Stan before it was too late. Mike seemed to understand this, and didn’t stop to ask any questions - not even when Bill turned off down a road Mike had never ventured down before. He assumed, correctly, that Bill knew where he was going. 

He did. He was going the only place left in Derry that Stanley would be caught alive. And praying that was the case.

_-_

_“It was fucking funny,” Stanley insisted, still giggling over the memory._

_“Was not,” Bill grumbled, but he was smirking too. “It was muh-mortifying. If Richie finds out I did that I’m never leaving my huh-house again.” Stan’s laughter faded in Bill’s neck, and the grip he had around Bill’s waist tightened. He pressed down, Bill up._

_“That would be a shame,” Stan whispered, an edge to his voice that Bill had come to know well. He pressed down again, harder._

_“He won’t find out though,” Bill said, “Will he, Uris?” Stan burst into another fit of giggles._

_“He will not,” Stanley huffed, but he was still smirking, “I don’t think he’d ever let you live that one down.”_

_“Don’t even make me think about it.”_

_“I’ll shut up,” Stan said, pressing a kiss into the side of Bill’s face, and then pressing his hips down again. Bill responded more that time, pushing up into the touch and gripping Stan’s jaw to kiss him properly. There was no innocence, and neither one of them wanted there to be at that moment. They didn’t drive out into the outskirts of Derry for innocence._

_“Are we really gonna do th-this again?” Bill asked, sliding his hand down Stan’s chest, who eagerly nodded a yes._

_They did it again, the same as the last time and the time before that - messy and desperate and passionate. Bill kept tissues in the car now though, at all times. They were needed, because there was no way Stan was walking around, or even just laying there for five minutes, with that on his stomach. He never had to. Bill took good care of him, always did._

_“I love you,” Stan whispered as Bill settled back beside him. It was a tight squeeze, always with one of them awkwardly half on top, but they had adjusted, and knew how to make it work after so long._

_“I love you too,” Bill said, practically glowing. He always found satisfaction in hearing Stan say it first, something that was becoming more and more frequent as he truly learned to love being in love. He vaguely remembered the ghost of a pain from a time in which he didn’t believe he would ever hear such words from Stan, and now laughed about his own blind naivety. “Do you want me to drive you home now?”_

_“Not yet,” Stan replied, somehow nuzzling even closer, “I’m comfortable.”_

_“I don’t know how,” Bill chuckled, but he wasn’t complaining if it meant they got to spend longer wrapped up in their own world. “But that’s fine. We can go when you like, I doh-don’t think my parents will give a shit how late I’m home.”_

_It was past nine, on a Friday night, and Stan knew the likelihood of him getting home for his curfew was very small, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He was too content in his position below Bill. There was something Stan found homely about being in Bill’s car, or maybe it was just being with Bill in general, but a warmth and a joy it gave him, as if he was safe. He was. And in the backseat, it felt like he always would be._

_“I’ll happily stay here all night,” Stan stated, though he was proposing the idea as a fantasy above a suggestion._

_“I have blankets in the trunk,” Bill told him, which was a mistake, because then two minutes later he had to climb out of the car and grab said blankets, and then arrange them over the two of them for what was now definitely going to be a nightlong stay._

_“I’ll tell my parents some bullshit about staying with Eddie,” Stan said, “There is no way you’re driving me home tonight, don’t wanna sleep alone tonight.”_

_“I don’t wanna sleep alone ever,” Bill countered, “Could be huh-holding you instead.”_

_“College,” Stan whispered the word, as if it was magical. They had just found out, only two days previous, that both of them had been accepted into their college of choice. Celebrations were going to be endless and undisputed, because now, they knew for certain, that they had a solid future together. Nothing made Stan happier than that thought. “Can hold me every night.”_

_“Til I fuckin’ die,” Bill mused, pressing a kiss into Stan’s shoulder. He hummed appreciatively._

_“Sap,” Stanley chuckled._

_“You love it,” Bill replied, almost certain it was true. And it was, really, but sometimes Stanley had a hard time handling all of that. Not right then though, in that moment, he truly and entirely did love it._

_“And you,” Stan replied, “I love you.”_

_They fell asleep shortly after, curled up on the backseat in a tangle of limbs with one blanket to shield them both. It was uncomfortable, but not enough so to make them care to move. It was then, in a half-dream haze, Bill Denbrough knew he was with his soulmate. And he was certain there would never be anybody he could love more. Stanley, in deep sleep, had known the same._

_-_

“Bill, where the fuck are we going?” They had been in the car nearly thirty minutes, the entire time in a heavy silence. Bill had seemed entirely focused on the road, and much to Mike’s surprise, seemed to be driving like he knew exactly where to go. Mike didn’t know where that was, he didn’t know where they were at all, actually, and he knew Derry like the back of his hand. 

“Our place,” Bill replied, his voice thick yet monotonous. 

“Our place?” Mike questioned, raising his eyebrows. It then clicked that he was referring to Stanley, a second too late.

“Stan and I,” Bill said, “We had a puh-place we liked to go.” Bill recalled what were maybe the most content and peaceful evenings of his life up there in the deserted cracks of Derry. He was almost afraid to show Mike, like he was exposing a new part of himself, telling their big secret. Not that the worst wasn’t already out, but still, the intimacy behind their place partially stemmed from the privacy. Showing Mike felt like removing that privacy.

“All the way out here?” 

“Not far,” Bill insisted, making yet another turn off. Before long, things began to clear. Mike saw it before Bill said it, his eyes fixating on the truck parked in the middle of a grass valley. His truck. 

Bill pulled over, wordlessly leaping out of the car and running towards the vehicle. Mike was a couple of seconds behind, filled with relief and concern. A small part of him (very small but present all the same), had hoped Stanley got out of Derry, hoped that he saw somewhere safe and alive and free, with or without Mike’s truck in tow. But this scenario was probably the much better outcome.

By the time Mike caught up, Bill and Stan were too wrapped up in each other to even notice. Mike stood back, watching from a distance so they could have their moment uninterrupted. He was happy just watching, heart warming up at the sight of them, yet breaking knowing that this wasn’t any old embrace. This could be their last, at least for a long time. 

“I’m sorry,” Stanley was whispering into Bill’s shoulder, repeating the sentence again and again as if to give it more meaning. Once was enough, but Bill didn’t care so long as he could keep hearing that voice. 

The voice hushed eventually, as Stanley alternatively used his mouth to kiss Bill’s. Mike found himself averting his eyes. Although he had seen them kiss before, many times, with much more heat behind it than that, he knew he had never seen an exchange so soft and intimate. It wasn’t supposed to be watched. Not that they cared, or even remembered his presence at all in that moment.

“I love you,” Bill said, his voice cracking as he spoke, “I love you so much-“ It wasn’t his stutter that was limiting his words, instead the threat of tears, which he knew were going to be relentless once the stream inevitably began.

“And I love you,” Stan returned, cupping his face. There was silence then, and tears from them both fell. “I’m going to go Bangor, aren’t I?” 

-

The car ride back in Derry was painfully quiet. Mike drove Bill’s car, knowing his own needed more gas before it would be worth, or possible, to get back into Derry. He made a mental note to sort that on the sly, God forbid his Grandfather find out. Bill and Stan sat in the back, curled up in each other as they had been only hours ago before Stanley had attempted to vanish. 

Understandably, Stanley was shaking by the time they pulled up at Bill’s. Then crying, as soon as they walked through the front door. He was hit by something of a homey feel, and overwhelming nostalgia for a place he hadn’t even left yet almost knocked him to his feet. 

He realised that he had experienced so many last times without even knowing it, and that was crushing - how he would never lay by Bill’s side in their childhood beds, bodies pressed together in some way or another every single time; how he would never sit in the basement with the rest of the losers and laugh, joke, cry, moan; how he would never again walk the halls of Derry High, never sit across from Bill sharing secret smiles and playing footsie in the cafeteria whilst strangers passed them curious looks. He would never leap off of the quarry, nor roam the barrens or sit in Mike’s truck softly humming to the shitty seventies mixtapes Mike forever made whilst his friends spoke and laughed and joked. 

He would never return to Derry. Stanley knew that much, because as much as the buried adoration he’d always held was overwhelming him, the hatred and claustrophobia of his tiny hometown also intensified, and the strange mixture made the whole ordeal all the more unbearable. He could barely breathe. 

Bill had never seen him breakdown like that, sobbing hysterically into his knees at the bottom of the stairs. Equally as distraught, he found himself useless to assist Stanley, simply sobbing with him, clutching him with a hold he hoped scream everything his throat had caught up in it. It did, and somehow, Stan found himself calming slightly. The emotions were still heavy and intense, but he felt himself beginning to fall back into reality. The predicament would not change, would not get easier. He had to face it, maturely, as he always did everything. 

“College,” Bill said to him, voice soft though broken and rough, “We’re going together, Stan, ah-and before that, we cah-can write, and call, and- I-I don’t know. I juh-just know that time won’t change how I feel about you, not ever.” 

They kissed then, a quick peck before Bill stood up, taking Stan by the hand. He lead him to his bedroom, an action with the purest of intention, and an action that he knew he would never do again. 

Mike had left before they entered the house, hugging Stanley with all the love he had in his heart. He cried the entire walk home, but knew that they needed to be left alone. And alone, they were, until one of his parents inevitably returned and told Stan’s parents about his being there. 

It took Sharon Denbrough two hours to return though, and when the boys heard the front door open, it didn’t come as a surprise, nor did it hurt any more so. They weren’t ready, would never be, but they had accepted it. 

“Don’t tell her we’re here,” Stan whispered, his grip around Bill’s waist tightening. “I want longer.” 

“I won’t,” Bill mumbled, his thought process had been the same, but he didn’t think it would be long before she eventually came to his room. Bill knew that she still did that with Georgie, occasionally wondering in and staring for a couple of minutes before leaving and shutting the door tightly behind her, as if trying to lock her grief away in the room the small boy once inhabited. 

Bill wondered, if he had run away, would she do the same? 

“Mom knew ah-about us,” Bill told Stanley. They were laid on their sides, pressed chest to chest with arms tightly holding the other, and their faces only inches apart. Stanley, prior to this information, had his eyes shut tightly. Now, they were wide and afraid, again. “I-I-I never told her, I s-s-s-swear it. She juh-just guessed, I think.” 

“And she doesn’t care?” Stanley was baffled, absolutely astounded that someone as ignorant as Sharon Denbrough could clock onto such a thing and decide not to say a word. Unless she did, but Stan and Bill both very much doubted that.

“Not really,” Bill said, almost angered by this fact. Things would have been different if his mother had confronted him about this, but no, she fucking insisted that he hide it, repeatedly told him that he wasn’t how he was, despite knowing full well that wasn’t true. Despite knowing everything. And he was angry, because things could have been different, and better. And Bill could be living life as normal, instead of hiding away in his room to prolong the time before his boyfriend had to leave him for what Bill knew would feel like a very, very long time. “She said not, to Mike, at least. When we cah-came to get the car, I snuck in and took the keys while he talked to her. I heard her say it.” 

“Oh.” He wasn’t sure what to say to that. “She can’t save me though, can she?” 

They both knew. “N-No.” 

She wouldn’t. Saving Stanley would mean taking him in, and they would never be willing to do that, for a whole number of reasons. Bill, nor Stan, didn’t even bother to entertain the possibility, it was a lot more complex than the Denbrough’s just shrugging and saying ‘come live with us’. 

Stan estimated it had been around forty minutes before she ventured upstairs finally. They hadn’t kept track of time, unwillingly to focus on how little they had left. Optimistically, both boys hoped that Sharon Denbrough would not enter her sons room, would ignore the fact that the open door was now shut tight, would go about her day like nothing had even happened. They couldn’t be so lucky though. 

Sharon noticed almost immediately, despite being a generally unobservant person. She supposed the stress heightened her awareness of the little things, and was certain that she had left Bill’s bedroom door open. Bill always made sure it was shut, whether he be in or out of the room. Slowly, she approached the door, putting her hand on the knob warily, as if it could burn her, before slowly twisting it and pushing the door open a slight amount. She peered through the crack. 

Both boys were staring at her, eyes wide with what Sharon knew to be fear. And devastation. They were silent though, and very, very still, as if in a tableaux. Sharon pushed the door wider, and slowly stepped inside, the creaking of the floorboards shattering the silence. 

“I went looking for you.” 

“We came back,” Bill’s voice was monotonous. “Where’s Dad?” 

“At work.” Of course, Zach hadn’t been quite as cut up. Concerned, naturally, but not crushed. Bill hadn’t really expected otherwise. “Where did you go?” She was speaking quietly, as if trying to conceal the wavering in her voice. 

“Mike’s,” Bill said, which was the truth, but also went along with the lie Mike had told her earlier. “It was safe, there.” 

“Why did you come back?” His mother asked, looking between the two of them. They hadn’t moved, still holding each other how they had been before. There wasn’t much point in moving, it wasn’t like they had anything to hide anymore. And Bill knew he would spend every minute he could touching his boyfriend now, knowing the clock was ticking down to his departure. “You did the right thing, of course, I just…Why?” 

Bill thought about telling her the truth. He wondered how she’d react if he explained that he didn’t want her to have no children left, if he explained that he was too afraid to leave the only home he’d had with no plan, with no money, or goal. If he explained that despite the neglect and ignorance of his family, despite the trauma he had experienced, despite the hatred he felt, Bill couldn’t bring himself to leave Derry just yet.

“School,” Bill shrugged, “My friends. Money.” They were reasons all the same, and his mother nodded like she understood. Bill noticed that she was shaking. It didn’t make him feel as bad as it probably should have.

“Right,” She said, “I suppose I should contact the police then. They’re out looking, have been all night. And your parents.” Her eyes were burning into Stanley with something between a sympathetic or apologetic gaze, neither of which were appreciated. Stan didn’t want her sympathy, not unless it was coming in the form of heroics, which it would never. 

“Not his parents-“ Bill was going to try and bargain regardless. 

“I have to,” Sharon sighed, shaking her head at them. “If this was the other way around…” Her voice trailed off, as if she knew things would be a lot different, but her stance didn’t change. She didn’t want to piss the other boys parents off, and she certainly wasn’t going to harbour their ‘missing’ son. 

“Please,” Bill begged, “Mom, you can’t, this ih-ih-isn’t fair-“ 

“I don’t care about fair, William. I have a responsibility. I’m sorry, but I can’t help. I have to do this, you’re just too upset to understand that right now.” 

Stan said nothing. Bill did. “I’ll never fuh-forgive you for this.” 

-

It took Stan’s parents thirty minutes to return to the Denbrough house. 

During that time, both Stan and Bill had sobbed some more, as had Sharon Denbrough, mostly due to the guilt. The boys were still in Bill’s room, finding the tiniest bit of comfort in the familiarity of it. Sharon resided downstairs, keeping out of their way until she would inevitably have to collect Stanley. The clock was ticking. 

During that time, outside of the Denbrough house, Mike Hanlon was riding around on his old bike due to the temporary loss of his truck. One by one, he went to the homes of every other loser, bar Beverly, who’s home was not in Derry any longer. Barely had been, according to her memory. 

First, Mike went to Eddie, who grabbed his own beat up bike and joined his friend on the journey to Ben’s, and then to Richie’s. They repeated the story at each stop, and then finally, made their way back to the beginning. 

It took Mike twenty four minutes to do the round. Only six minutes short of the Uris’ family, who had spent time packing their son another bag of things and making final arrangements before they had set off to collect Stanley. 

The knock at the door sent a wave of nausea through Stan, it hit him with so much intensity that he genuinely believed he would vomit at the sound. Bill watched the colour drain from Stan’s face and sobbed harder, his entire body racking with the force of it. 

“Bill,” Sharon Denbrough called, “Stanley! You have visitors.” 

Nineteen seconds, that was how long it took the losers to get from the front door of the Denbrough house up to Bill’s room. They burst into the bedroom before either one of the boys had been able to process what Sharon had yelled.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Stanley asked, but he sounded relieved. Relieved and heart broken, not two emotions that were often hand in hand. As soon as the losers had gotten through the door, they had pounced onto the bed with them, all six holding each other as tightly as they could manage. Richie was still clinging to Stan, head buried in his shoulder.

“Couldn’t let you go without saying goodbye,” Eddie explained, his voice softer than usual, as if he was afraid it was about to crack. “Jeez, Stan, you think you can get away that easy?” 

“You ain’t getting away,” Ben said, “I swear it-“

“They’ll drag me out by the hair on my head if they have to,” Stan cut in, killing the delusion. Optimism was misplaced, and he knew better than anyone. “I have to go. There isn’t really… I mean, I don’t have a choice. So- So I guess this is goodbye.” 

“Not goodbye,” Mike promised, “Just a see you later.” 

Stan felt himself welling again, as did everyone else. Bill had never stopped, which had been expected, but was still hard for them all to see. 

They went round, one by one, giving Stan a final embrace and exchanging words and memories and sobs and laughter. Stan was so distracted by all of this, he, nor any of the losers, heard the sound of the car pulling up outside. Or the sound of the front door slamming. 

But the yelling, well, that was impossible to miss. It began as soon as Stan’s parents got out of the car, and did not end until Sharon Denbrough ran up the stairs and ushered the boys downstairs. Going against their natural and desperate urges, the losers did not attempt to argue. Stanley had lost all the fight inside him, and Bill knew better than to waste it on a battle he had already lost, as much as the thought destroyed him.

Stanley had gone down the stairs first, shaking and sobbing as Mike, Eddie, Richie and Ben silently followed, ignoring the evil stares that they knew were being directed at them all. Bill took another minute before he came down, and was followed by his mother, who offered the Uris’ a small smile. 

“I think it’s time you left boys,” Sharon said, hoping her tone was gentle enough to convey how sorry she was. Sorry, but not sorry enough to do anything about it. The losers didn’t say another word, unless the curses Richie muttered on his way out counted for anything. As soon as the front door slammed behind them, the four of them began to cry. They didn't go home though, they went to the quarry. They went to remember, to grieve, and it felt like it had done all those years ago, when they had seen Beverly for the very last time. They were not only upset, they were afraid. And they had every fucking right to be. 

Inside, Stan was certain he did not have another tear left in him. But then his parents began to speak, and he realised that he had been far too optimistic with that mindset. 

There was nothing but silence, at first, as Stan’s parents held something of an intense stare off with Bill, who was stood at the bottom of his staircase with red, angry eyes and a tight lips. Stan was trying to calm himself, though he was finding it impossibly hard as everything he saw was another thing he knew he would be leaving behind. It seemed harder, as well, when his mother placed a firm hand on his shoulder and lightly pulled him back to them. 

“We’ll be on our way,” Andrea Uris said, voice flat and emotionless, “Thank you for calling us, Sharon, it’s been a very stressful ordeal.” Sharon nodded, but when Andrea received no verbal response, she found herself continuing, “I’ll be in touch soon about…well, things.” 

“About what, exactly?” Sharon asked, a waver in her voice. Andrea flashed a look to Bill, then back to his mother. The eyes said it all, but she spoke up anyway.

“What your son did, of course,” Andrea replied, in an almost comically casual manor. The woman even smiled, first at Sharon, then down at Stanley, who was caving deeper in on himself with every passing second. The touch of his mothers hand was burning him, it felt like a violation. “Don’t worry, we’re going to fix it.” 

“Then what more needs to be discussed?” It was the wrong response, for a number of reasons. It was passive, and that was what angered Bill so much. They had never needed her to be bold or assertive or brave more than in that moment, but it was far from the first time his mother had let him down, and Bill doubted it would be the last. 

“Fuh-fuh-fuh-fix it?” Bill spat, suddenly drawing all eyes back on him. His own locked with Stan’s, naturally, and something in him snapped. “How the fuh-“

“William!” Sharon told herself that she was yelling at him for the foul language. Everyone knew better, and it hurt. It hurt that even in that moment, she couldn’t stand up for anything. Not even her own son. 

“You can’t fix it!” Bill continued to shout over her. It wasn’t like he had anything left to lose. “He duh-doesn’t need to buh-be fixed-“

"You're clueless," Donald spat, a smirk on his face. Bill felt himself getting more and more riled. "He's sick. You both are, I don't care if your mother thinks that's all fine and well..." Sharon flinched like she'd been hit. "...But I don't. My son isn't a homosexual. My son isn't in love with you." 

Stanley was crying again. But the tears didn't hinder his words. _"I fucking am-" “IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou-“_ Stanley was whispering it into the silence. A silence that was quickly broken. 

“Enough,” Donald snapped. They half expected the man to march over, to physically tear them apart. He did not, but this had nothing to do with sympathy, it was simply because it didn’t matter. Donald had won. Stanley was going to be leaving, no matter how tightly Bill held him. “We’re leaving, Stanley. Now.”

“I love you,” Bill said to Stan, too quiet for any other ears, “I’ll write. Write to me. I-I-I’ll save up, ah-and I’ll drive down, ah-and we have college. We can do this, Stan.” He believed it, they both did. They needed to, for sanity's sake above anything. 

“I need to go, Bill.” Stanley had thought of warmer responses to Bill’s ideas, but the heavy stomps of his fathers footsteps on the concrete had changed his mind. There was no point starting something he wouldn’t be able to finish. There was no point starting anything at all, in that moment. Time wasn’t something they had, after all. 

“Promise you won’t forget me-“ Bill called out. His mind flashed to Beverly in that moment, deja vu of his painful goodbye to her. It was his one final request as Donald tugged Stanley away and into the back of the car. He couldn't let that happen again. He couldn't lose Stan like they lost Bev, couldn't bare that. 

_“I promise.”_ Stanley was usually good at those.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this isn't the end. theres one small thing left, because im an idiot n miscalculated how much I needed to write for this. let me know what u think bc comments r my fuel, but thank u for reading even if u dont wanna tell me what cha thought xo


	11. 11

**SIX MONTHS.**

Bangor hadn’t been so bad. Not bad at all, actually. 

The first few weeks had been hard, painfully so, and Stan’s Aunt had been very concerned about the amount of crying he did. _Boys shouldn’t do that,_ she always insisted. He disagreed, as he did with most things she said, but she wasn’t all bad. Anything was a step up from home, he supposed.

He didn’t think of home all that much anymore, though, in fact barely at all now that he’d settled into the high school. Stanley hadn’t expected to make new friends, and certainly none that could be comparable to his old friends - the losers. But he did. 

And now, he was graduating with them. It was exciting, but Stan couldn’t help but wonder how his old friends were doing. Were they graduating that day, too? Stanley meant to ask in one of his letters to Bill, but he hadn’t sent one in a while. A very long while, actually. Mostly because he never knew what to say. 

He didn’t send letters to any of the losers really, not anymore. He’d had one phone call with them, on Eddie’s birthday, but it had been awkward and alien, not how he remembered the atmosphere to be with them - not that he remembered much at all.

It wasn’t his fault, of course, The Forgetting, he couldn’t help it. Every day, things slowly slipped from him. Stan could no longer remember the way he got those scars down the side of his face, nor could he remember the name of the female friend that moved away all those summers ago. Stan failed to recall exactly what his parents had caught him doing that fateful night six months ago, was uncertain as to why he had been shipped off to Bangor. His mind filled in the blanks though, making assumptions sooner than asking questions. And he still remembered facts, like that they used to play down at The Barrens - even if he couldn't picture it accurately, and he knew that Richie was a Trashmouth and he and his friends had been horribly bullied, even if he couldn't recall who by. 

It wasn’t like he had forgotten everything, either. Stan remembered that he had a crush on Bill, mostly because he still got that ghost of a feeling every time the name crossed through his mind, but he didn’t remember what he and Bill would do together when they hung out. Stan remembered fighting with his Father almost every night, but he wasn’t sure what words had been used to damage their relationship so severely. Stan remembered the overwhelming amounts of love he had for his friends, the all consuming adoration that surrounded his heart when he looked at the polaroid on his wall. Stan didn’t remember why. 

The letters had started immediately. Stan had sent his first to Bill after being there two days, and received a reply within five. He wrote to all the losers after that, once he realised it was safe and that his Aunt wasn’t going to confiscate his mail. Obviously, he no longer possessed those letters, and didn’t remember the things he said to them. He kept the ones he received, but they were different. Richie spoke of girls that Stan could no longer picture. Eddie talked down on his Mother for reasons Stan knew existed, but weren’t in his memory. Mike would reminisce about times Stan could only vaguely envision, and Ben would ask him questions that he had lost the answers to. 

Bill was an entirely different ballgame. Stan knew that there were different affections there, but he didn’t remember what those were, nor what they meant or whether they were returned or not. Bill wrote to him more than any of the other losers, and spoke differently too. Every single letter was signed off with capitalised “i love you” and he would whine on for pages about how much he missed him, how he wanted to hold him and touch him and- well, in one letter, Bill said a little bit more than that - and Stan knew what it meant, and melted at the idea - but the fact he didn’t really remember any of it was beyond terrifying. 

They were supposed to be going to the same college, Stan knew that, and knew he would be seeing Bill again soon. That thought did nothing but panic him, because he had no idea how to act, nor what to say or who to be. And most of all, because Stan knew he had broken his promise. 

There were memories left, of course, the most prominent of Bill being in his front garden, Stan being dragged into the car prior to his drive down to Bangor, and Bill pleading with him not to forget. Funny he had asked, really. 

On more optimistic days, Stan figured that if there was anything worth remembering then he would. On days more optimistic than that, he wouldn’t even give Derry a passing thought. Those were becoming more frequent, but he tried not to think about it too much, knowing that dwelling would only make it harder. 

He was graduating, that day. There was an unfinished letter left out on his desk, addressed to Bill Denbrough. Stanley had written it out a few weeks previous, but couldn’t bring himself to conclude it, nor send it. He had a bad feeling about it, something inexplicable yet undeniably powerful. 

Stan walked over to the letter, unfolding it for the first time in weeks. He didn’t often reread his letters before sending them, and didn’t understand the sudden urge to do so right then. As he scanned over his words, he remembered exactly why he struggled to send the letter. It was a bad news kind of letter, the kind of letter that would make Bill cry. 

How it had slipped his mind, Stanley did not know. 

He gave it to his Aunt to post, then slinked back upstairs and into his room, where he began to root around in a box marked “home”, containing the few small memories that he taken with him to Bangor. Home didn’t feel like a fitting title for it anymore.

He re-read every letter, re-observed every photograph. There was nothing that brought much back. Stanley had been about to put it back under his bed, where it had remained for a long time, when he saw a small postcard in the corner. He knew that he hadn’t just reread it, he would remember. 

Curious, Stan picked it up and turned it round. There was writing on the back, writing he could instantly recognise as Bill’s messy but coherent scrawl. 

_Stan,  
I'm writing because you love my writing. But you might not like this. You might hate it. You might hate me. I bet I hate myself more- _

He didn’t need to finish it. Stan knew, in that moment, exactly what it said. And suddenly, everything began to come back. 

He ran downstairs, where his Aunt was cooking the kitchen. _“Don’t deliver the letter-“_

“But why? I already did, Stanley.” 

-

The letter only took two days to arrive. 

Bill was laid in bed when his Mother slid it under his door. She didn’t like to disturb him, nobody did. Since Stanley had left, Bill had fallen into a hole. He left his bedroom for school, to post letters, and occasionally hang out with the losers, though he didn’t care much for that anymore. It felt alien without Stanley. So did Derry in it’s entirety. 

In that moment, Bill was having yet another cry. The last letter from Stanley was under his pillow, and he was momentarily concerned about getting the envelope wet. He didn’t want to smudge any of the ink, the words were too precious. 

Much to his despair, Stanley’s letters were short and rare now. He felt his heart leap to his throat every time a new one would arrive, and cried every time, usually more than once. The last time, it had taken him half an hour to get through it, crying too hard to read the words properly. Ben read them to him, sometimes. It was comforting. 

None of the other losers thought it was all that strange, the lack of letters, and boiled it down to his living situation. Richie insisted that it would be his Aunt stopping him, or reading them before he sent anything to prevent him writing anything over emotional. Bill knew that was logical, but he didn’t believe it, as much as he wanted to. 

He wrote his own letters to Stanley almost every day, but the vast majority remained unsent and sat in his top drawer. He wasn’t sure that Stan would be okay with receiving so many, or if his Aunt would have a negative reaction to that. Bill didn’t want to push his luck, so forced himself to only send a letter once Stanley had. They were all significantly longer than what Stanley wrote for him, and spoke much more romantically. Bill could just about handle the lack of affection in the letters, because it was better than nothing, and every one still ended with a neatly scribed “I love you.” That was enough, Bill thought.

He picked the new letter up off of his floor with jittering hands. It was the best thing that had happened to him all week, he thought. All that yearning would partially come to an end, he thought. 

Before opening it, Bill held it tightly to his chest, slowly running his thumbs up and down the soft paper. He liked that it had been in Stanley’s grasp not so long ago, and was warmed by the idea that Stan’s touch had also marked the paper. Maybe that was why they were so special, more so than the words within them. He wondered if Stan cradled his letters with such care, if he also tucked them all up and read them on a daily basis. He hoped so, optimistically. 

Part of him thought not, though. A darker part of his mind would taunt him with the idea that Stanley was forgetting, that Stanley didn’t care anymore. He wanted Stanley to miss his touch in the same way he missed Stan’s, but doubted it. Those thoughts were ignored, for the most part. When Bill had confessed some of his less innocent desires in a letter, it went unacknowledged. Bill wondered if that never got to him, or if he was too embarrassed to write something so impure back.

Bill went back to his bed to open the letter, slowly sliding open the paper. It was a little longer than usual, and began with words that made Bill’s gut instantly twist. 

_“Before I begin, I need to tell you that I am sorry…”_

Bill felt vomit form in his stomach, the kind that burned. His eyes continued to scan. 

_“As much as I would love to, I will not be attending college with you in September, Bill.”_

His eyes were almost too blurred to read. He could barely breathe. 

_“I wish you the best, my friend.”_

His chest was tighter than it had ever been. He could barely think.

The last thing Bill had expected from the letter was heart break. He realised that had been naive, that it had been a risk all along. 

_My friend._ There was no I love you, like on every previous letter - though those had been a while ago. Maybe Stanley _didn’t_ love him anymore. Bill was feeling a lot of things, all negative, but surprised was not one of them.

It was Eddie that came over and held him as he sobbed, for he understood the inconsolable heartache that came with unrequited love. Sat there hours with him, eventually caving and crying himself. 

“I’m so sorry this happened,” Eddie whispered to him, as Bill’s sobbing began to slow, instead transitioning into hot, silent tears. “I thought…I thought you two would be forever.” It felt like a dangerous thing to say, like the sort of thing that would send Bill back into a fit too overwhelming for Eddie to handle alone. Thankfully, Bill was almost cried out for the night.

“Me too,” Bill whispered, and realised, in that moment, “But we ran out of time luh-luh-long ago.” 

“You think?” Eddie asked. Bill nodded. “Oh, fuck. Maybe- Uh, maybe you’ll reconnect one day. Ask to go see him before you both leave, maybe?” It felt like a good idea, but it wasn’t. Bill knew this, but wished he didn’t. The truth was unbearable, more so than it had ever been before.

“I can’t, Eds.” And he had realised this quite some time ago. 

“Why not?” 

“He’s forgotten us, Eds,” Bill said. He had expected it to happen, just how it happened to Beverly. Maybe not so soon though, and he hoped it wouldn’t be long enough to impact their planned future. But it had, harder than he thought possible. 

The only thing more heartbreaking than the fact Stanley had forgotten? Stanley had broken his promise.

Bill just prayed to God he wouldn’t do the same in twenty seven-or-so years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this is the end. maybe not the most satisfying, I can't say for sure. please give me your final thoughts - feed my ego - and if you enjoyed this I have a fat collection of other works, many much better than this (and maybe a little less angsty). if you're still here, thank you for staying with me on this journey. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did.


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